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myhairpintrigger · 4 months

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Grieving for the Living (Aleksander Morozova x fem!reader) Part 5

The entirety of a capricious and treacherous marriage between the Darkling and the Lantsov princess.

read previous parts here!! part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

hi just popping in to say i love u guys always and longer. thank u for 400 followers, i could just kiss all of you!

word count: 8.5k

warnings: everything is cannon typical. unhealthy relationship dynamics are ahead, too.

taglist: @il0vebeingdelulu @mellowarcadefun @budugu @eir964 @arwensloanebarnes @marytvirgin @chaoticcoffeequeen @claire-loves-music

“I had a dress made for you.”

This was the first time your mother had directly spoken to you since you left Os Alta. She stood in the doorway of your room holding a large white box and she smiled at you.

It wasn’t a pleasant smile by any means. It was one of ambivalence and nervousness. You had half a mind to hiss at her like a cat to see her go running down the hall, but you didn’t.

Instead, you mirrored her smile and you set your book down upon your lap. You sat in the far corner of your room on an overly cushioned chair, legs crossed stiffly in front of you.

“I didn’t expect that. I just planned on wearing one of my old ones to the party.” You hummed and folded your arms over your chest.

Your mother, as vain as ever, had insisted on an engagement party for Nikolai and Alina, even whilst you were in hiding. You thought it to be in poor taste that a social outing was all she could think of in a time like this, but you truthfully didn’t expect much else of her, either.

“Yes, well, we have to look our best, don’t we? It’s really a lovely dress. It’s lilac, with lots of pearls. You love pearls.” Your mother said with a proud smile.

You eyed her and sent her back a half smile of your own. In the months she’d spent without Genya Safin tailoring her, it seemed she had aged years and years. Her skin was thin and wrinkled like old parchment and there were little spots on the backs of her hands. Her eyes seemed to have sunken in a bit, as well, and her hair was greying rapidly, losing the blonde that Genya had so often given her.

“You’re right. I do love pearls.” You replied emptily and slowly rose from the chair.

You strode towards your mother and you noticed that when you were within a few feet of her, she took a couple steps back as if you were going to attack her. You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

You reached out and lifted the lid from the box on your bed and you dropped it aside so that you could pull out the dress. It was a big, heavy piece of clothing, and just when you thought you’d gotten it all out of the box, it kept coming. Finally once you’d pulled the entire gown out of the box, you pushed the box aside and it clattered on your floor. You laid the dress out on your bed and examined it.

It really was a lovely dress. It was nearly as big as your wedding gown, which had been ridiculously large. The skirt was a lovely shade of lilac with swirls and designs embroidered into the shimmering fabric, embellished with little pearls. The bodice must have been what weighed the dress down so drastically, because it was an intricate piece of work. Pearls and other beads were sewn into the fabric so densely that you could hardly see the purple fabric underneath it, and the sleeves were two dainty little cuffs that would surely rest just off of your shoulders.

You turned to look at your mother and you blinked a few times.

“You had this made for me?” You asked incredulously, gaping over at her, “I’m shocked you would give me the time of day.”

Your mother looked a bit guilty and then she shrugged, “Well, it was not my idea, to be honest. It was Nikolai’s. But I was the one that told them which color to use. And to use pearls! Because you love them.”

You gave her a weak smile and then you turned towards her completely. Perhaps this was an olive branch. The beginnings of a bridge that would bring you back into your family’s good graces.

“Thank you, Mother. Why don’t we go have some tea? Or take a small walk? We still have almost an hour before we have to get ready for the party, and I-“

Your mother’s face became pinched, as if she’d eaten a sour fruit and she held her hand up to silence you.

“I’m afraid I must decline, and it’s for the best. I’m sure I’ll see you at the party and have my fill of you for the day there.” She said primly and then nodded to the dress, “Anyway, thank Nikolai for that.” She said airily before she gave you a nod and quickly scurried out of your bedroom.

You pursed your lips at the interaction and you moved to close the door behind her. Once it was closed, you turned back to look at the dress on your bed. You stared down at it with an apoplectic sneer and you let out a little scoff.

You had half a mind to wear one of your black dresses, just to see what she’d do about it. She’d probably faint and claim that your mind had been completely possessed by the Darkling. You snorted humorlessly and then shook the idea from your head- no matter how appealing.

A knock sounded at your door and you almost groaned, the desire to be alone consuming you rapidly. You shuffled over to the door listlessly and opened it up to see Nikolai standing in your doorway with a big grin on his lips. He shouldered past you and walked into your bedroom and he let out a low whistle.

“I see Mother has brought your dress to you. Isn’t it nice?” He asked and looked down at it, examining the gown with an approving nod.

“It’s pretty. I didn’t expect it.” You answered and watched your brother while he studied the dress.

“Well, I had her have her seamstress throw something nice together for you. Honestly, with any luck, you’ll completely upstage her. I’d like to see that.” He said and turned towards you, the same grin still on his lips.

You stared back at him and then shrugged, “She might behead me if I did that.”

Nikolai waved his hand dismissively and then he clicked his tongue.

“Try as she might, I do believe you’ve always upstaged her. Even when you were much younger.” He replied and sat down on the edge of your bed.

“Don’t tell her that.” You mumbled and sat down on the edge of the bed right next to Nikolai.

Nikolai reached over and gently patted your shoulder and he let out a long sigh.

“Listen, I know you’ve not been very happy these last few weeks. I won’t pretend to know exactly why but I have theorized a bit,” he began and then he folded his hands in his lap, “I worry about you often. I know things have been difficult for you, but I’m here for you. And you know, if there’s anything I can do for you, I’m always willing to do it. You’re my little sister, you’ve been my best friend since you could walk. I’ll protect you at any cost.” Nikolai finished and then he turned to look at you with a small smile.

You looked up at him and you let out a little sigh, giving him a slight nod.

“Yeah. I know. And I appreciate it. I appreciate you. Everything is just so… loud, right now. Can’t have a moment of peace, not even when it’s silent.” You murmured, sounding distant in your own ears.

“Peace isn’t really obtainable. At least, in my experience. But finding comfort in the midst of unrest may be the closest thing to it.”

You wondered what your brother meant by that. Nikolai spoke two languages; one being charming sarcasm, and the other being riddles. It was always one or the other. This seemed to be another one of his metaphor ridden riddles.

“Nothing in life is really easy. Happiness doesn’t come easily and neither does comfort. You’re going to lose things, you’re going to get hurt, you’re going to have to make hard decisions and even harder sacrifices, but no matter how hard it gets, you must keep writing your story. You might be miserable doing it and you might feel like you’re fighting a losing war, but whatever. Life goes on.” He finished and then he gave you another smile. A soft, genuine smile.

You returned his smile, even if you didn’t really mean it.

“Life goes on.” You repeated and he beamed, patting your knee a couple of times.

“Indeed it does, little sister.” He said and rose from the edge of your bed.

“Why don’t you start getting ready for the party?” He suggested and then strode towards your door. He stopped in the doorway though and looked over his shoulder at you.

“I mean it, y/n. Life goes on.”

As he left your room, you felt a frown cover your face.

You weren’t so sure he was right.

When you strode into the party, you were already nearly an hour late. Your dress was heavy and it took you and one of your mother’s servants nearly twenty minutes to get it on. Every moment you were late after that was your own fault. You didn’t relish the idea of a party and you didn’t want to be seen by people.

But of course, eyes would wander and they did.

When you walked into the large room, chatter seemed to quiet. Not entirely, but enough to make an indication that something was happening, causing heads to turn towards you.

You squared your shoulders and walked straight into the crowded room, not sparing any of the staring guests a second- or first- glance. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of your curiosity.

The very small train of your gown dragged rhythmically behind you as you walked through the crowd and shoulders past a few bystanders who didn’t have the mind to move out of the way for you. You set your sights on Nikolai who stood with Vasily and your mother and you walked towards them. You pressed your lips together and did your best to make your expression as stoic and impassive as possible.

Nikolai was the first to look up at you, and a warm smile covered his face. Vasily looked up at you next and then finally, so did your mother. She regarded you the same way you would regard a particularly sour piece of fruit- with a pinched expression and a particular distaste.

As you approached them, your eyes traveled over your mother. She looked… aged. Life without a Tailor hadn’t been treating her well. You’d remembered her being so beautiful when you were a child. None of that beauty remained. You wondered if it was simply age that had made her seem so displeasing to look at or if it was the way she had been acting towards you. Whatever it was, it hardly bothered you.

“There she is! I was wondering when you’d come down!” Nikolai beamed and he plucked a glass of champagne off of a tray carried by a passing waiter and he passed the dainty cup to you.

You took the glass from his hands gratefully and you took a small sip before you cleared your throat and glanced at your mother through your periphery. She was still staring you down.

“I was under the impression this was to be a small affair.” You remarked airily.

Nikolai seemed to think the same thing as you because he nodded and looked around the room with a small bit of disdain on his face.

“Yes, my thoughts exactly. How many guests did you invite?” He asked, his fingers tapping at his palms.

Your mother gave a passive, smug smile and she shrugged, “Vasily got a little overzealous with the invites,” she started and then glanced at your eldest brother, “Now, I don’t entirely agree with your Caryeva set, but I admit, that sort lends a certain air of festivity.” She praised idly, giving Vasily an approving smile.

You scoffed, and you swore you heard Nikolai do the same, but much quieter.

There was a moment of silence amongst the four of you, and you looked around at each member of your family. Your mother looked at ease, Vasily seemed a bit drunk, and Nikolai’s brow creased with worry. You frowned.

“Nik, what’s the matter?” you asked, taking a step closer to him.

“He’s revealed our location to the gamblers and freeloaders he calls friends.” He snapped and then looked at Vasily with an incredulous annoyance.

Vasily looked at Nikolai through his drunkenly heavy eyes and he sneered a bit.

“That’s rich coming from a pirate.” He remarked, his words slurring ever so slightly, “you make yourself ridicul-“

“The Darkling lives!” Nikolai shot back, cutting Vasily off.

Your mother placed a dramatic hand over her chest and then she eyed you suspiciously. You rolled your eyes.

“We are at great risk if our location is compromised! You’d sacrifice us all for your pride and stupidity.” Nikolai continued, his eyes meeting yours.

“You overreach, you little bastard.” Vasily slurred back, and he clapped a clumsy hand on Nikolai’s shoulder before he turned to face the majority of the crowd, “A toast!” He announced, cockily, before marching off to the front of the room.

Your mother placed her hand on Nikolai’s arm and gave him a small, apologetic smile before she caught your eye. When your gaze met hers, her smile melted away and all that was left on her face was a resonant disgust.

You brushed off her glare. You were done feeling sorry for yourself over things you couldn’t possibly control, your mother’s disdain being one of those things. What were you trying to prove anymore? And to whom were you trying to prove anything to? If your mother wanted to scorn you, then you could scorn her right back. You smoothed down your dress and gave her a saccharine smile.

“Mother, isn’t it too bad that Genya Safin isn’t here? You are in dire need of refreshment.” You cooed. Her brows furrowed together, but you would never know what she would have said, because Vasily boisterously began his toast.

“I’d like to share some words about my brother,” he began and motioned towards the three of you, “Nikolai!” He crooned and then took a sip of his wine, “Yes, yes, we all know he’s pretentious… condescending… a man of the people. But!” Vasily remarked and you glanced at Nikolai who rolled his eyes warily.

He glanced at the table of drinks in the corner and then back at you, giving you a small nod towards the table, mouthing ‘let’s go’. You took a few steps towards him while Vasily droned on.

“He has some hidden qualities, too. His intended should-“

Just as you took your final step towards Nikolai, the sound of shattering glass turned your attention up to the ceiling. The entire domed skylight had collapsed, and thick, smoky tendrils of shadow invaded the room at a rapid pace. As soon as they crashed into the ground, they shifted into humanoid forms. They had no eyes, but mouths with rows of serrated, crooked teeth, and they rushed forth and began to attack everyone in their path.

Glass fell from the crumbling remains of the skylight above your head and bits of it rained down into your hair. You shook your head rapidly and looked at Nikolai, bewildered. Nikolai looked back at you and he grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him, along with your mother. Gunfire and screams were the only things you could hear besides the occasional snarl from the shadow creatures. Guards were attempting to shoot at the creatures, but the bullets went right through them. The creatures knocked over tables and sent partygoers flying through the air as they moved around the room. Across the room, you saw Vasily dive behind an overturned table and you grasped onto Nikolai’s shoulder.

“What is this?” You asked, in a panic. You feared you already knew the answer.

“They must be the nichevo'ya David spoke of. Which means the Darkling must be close by.” Nikolai said sharply, keeping his hand on your arm protectively. You felt faint and you grasped his shoulder tightly to keep from stumbling.

“Nikolai-“

“We have to get out of here. Most importantly- we have to get you and Alina out of here.” He stated and you looked to the opposite side of the room. Alina and a few of her Grisha all stood behind a table that rested on its side, and all of them were doing what they could to fend off the nichevo'ya.

Gunfire still rang out around you and Nikolai spun around to look at you, his face pale.

“Run. Go. Right now. Get out of here. Grab a horse if you must but get out of here. I will find you, I swear it, but get out now. Before the Darkling comes.” Nikolai ordered and you gave him a clumsy nod before you grabbed the skirts of your gown and darted out from behind your brother. You ran along the wall, away from the creatures and the crowd and you had nearly made it to the door when a nichevo'ya materialized in front of you.

Your eyes widened and before you could scream, the creature lunged at you. You held your arms up defensively and waited for a blow that never came. You wondered if you had died for a split second, but you still heard screams around you. You slowly lowered your arms to see the creature standing in front of you, unmoving. If it had eyes, they would have been fixed on you as you stood before it. You took one step away from it, to gauge whether or not it would stop you, and when it didn’t, you turned on your heel and ran straight out into the hall. You dashed down corridors and around corners before you came to the front doors. You pushed them open ferociously and you barreled out the door, only to come to a skidding halt.

The grounds were surrounded by Grisha in their brightly colored keftas. You looked at them cautiously, only to realize that you didn’t recognize a single one of them.

Confused, you watched them all take slow steps closer and closer. They all looked fierce and determined as they moved in on the building you stood in front of, and it took you longer than you cared to admit to realize that these were Aleksander’s Grisha.

Before you could even turn to run back inside, they parted down the middle and through the crowd strode the man who had played on your mind every single day for the past months on end.

You stood, frozen in place. You wanted to run, but where could you run to? If you ran inside, you risked death by nichevo'ya, but if you ran anywhere out here, one of the surrounding Grisha would easily stop you. You were trapped.

He walked towards you with determination and as he got closer you could make out his facial features. His hair was the same; dark and gracefully pushed away from his face. His eyes were the same, too, so dark that they could pass for black. But there was something different about his face now. On the flawless pale skin of his lovely face sat three, thin, ink black scars that ran down his face at an angle.

From the volcra, you realized, and took a step back as he approached you.

You tried to stand tall and strong against him, but the second he came within three feet of you, you scurried backwards and held your hand out to stop him.

“Don’t come any closer.” You forced out, not pleased with how shaky your voice had become.

He didn’t listen.

He stepped closer and grabbed your wrist, moving your hand back down to your side. A beautiful, longing smile grew upon his face, as if he had just returned home from the longest of wars and he dropped your wrist, instead taking your chin in his hand.

“My beautiful wife.” He breathed, staring down at you. You pulled away from him and you shook your head.

“No. I am no longer your wife.” You spat, backing up against the closed doors behind you.

For every step you took away from Aleksander, he took one towards you, until you were trapped between him and the door.

“How curious, then, that you still wear your ring.” He murmured and looked down at your hand.

You swallowed hard and looked up at him, fear seizing you with a thousand hands.

“Don’t look at me like that. I am not here to hurt you, my love. I’m here to collect what’s been taken from me.” He cooed and reached out to brush his fingertips across your jaw.

His touch was so gentle; so loving, and you nearly found yourself instinctively leaning into it. It took all of your willpower to keep your head straight.

“And what might that be?” You demanded, clasping your hands behind your back.

He gave you another smile, but this smile was akin to one that you’d give a child after they said something completely outlandish and silly.

“You, of course. And the Sun Summoner.” He answered, moving his hand away from your face, reluctantly.

You snorted and stared up into his eyes challengingly, “I’m not an object to be collected.” You retorted and grasped the door handles behind your back. Perhaps if you could get back inside, you could find another way out. Another way away from him.

As if he expected this from you, he reached out and grabbed onto your wrists and pulled them in front of you, holding them in a tight grip.

“No, of course not. But I have so missed you, and despite what you may say, I think you’ve missed me as well, little Princess.” He murmured and then leaned down to kiss your forehead, keeping your wrists in his grip.

“I will not go. I will never follow you again.” You stated, shaking your head a few times.

His hands were freezing cold against your skin and the even colder metal of his own wedding ring made you want to shiver.

“I was afraid you’d say something like that.” He sighed, shaking his head as if he were dealing with a petulant child.

He turned around and nodded to one of the Grisha behind him, and a man quickly made his way up to the two of you. He wore a bright red kefta and a stony expression. Aleksander looked at you with regret in his dark eyes and then he shook his head once.

“Let me go, at once.” You whispered and tried to pull away from him.

“You can come with me willingly or my Heartrender can put you to sleep and make you come with me. I would prefer willingly, my love.” He said softly, brushing his thumbs back and forth across your wrists as he held them.

You shook your head.

“I already told you I won’t be coming with you.” You said sternly, staring back into his eyes challengingly.

He let out a sigh and leaned forward to kiss your cheek once before he dropped your wrists and nodded at his Heartrender.

“Then I suppose you’ll make me do this the hard way. I’ll see you when you wake, my dear.” He said, as if it pained him so.

You moved to grab the door again, but before you could, the Heartrender at your husband’s side raised his hands and suddenly you could only see black.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. You had been slipping in and out of consciousness, though. Unless you had been dreaming. Sometimes you’d see people over you, other times you’d hear muffled conversations, but nothing was clear.

When you were finally awoken, it was slow. You felt your body waking up first, and your muscles felt stiff and unused. You became vaguely aware of the feeling of fingertips, brushing comfortingly across your face, over your cheekbones, across your jaw, along the bridge of your nose. The action was calming, and you felt blissful, as if you were waking from a peaceful nap.

Only when you opened your eyes, did reality strike you, hard and fast. There was hardly any light in the room you were in. It was dark and it was a bit cold, but you noticed there was a blanket covering you to your shoulders. You laid upon a bed that felt like it had hardly been slept in, and you flickered your gaze over to the side. There Aleksander sat, on the edge of the bed. His calloused fingers were still moving affectionately over your face and a small smile formed on his scarred face. You stared up at him, unable to find words to express your newfound disgust.

“There she is. There’s my lovely girl.” He purred and he brushed his thumb across your bottom lip before pulling his hand away from your face with a reluctance that you had never seen him use, “I’ve so missed your voice, little love.”

You stared up at him, silent. There was the faint sound of conversation out in the hallway and there were hurried footsteps, and it was the only noise that floated around the two of you for a long time. Your eyes traveled his face. His once perfect skin was now marred with three, black scars. If it wasn’t for the skin that was raised around them, you would’ve thought them to be drawn on. His hair was swept back as always, and he, of course, was dressed in all black. You examined his scars once more and told yourself you were glad he had to suffer, but you were ashamed to feel little aches of sympathy in your chest at the sight of where he had been wounded.

“Feeling shy, I see.” He commented and then reached down to brush a bit of hair away from your forehead.

“Not shy,” You found your voice, staring up at him, “I have nothing to say to you.”

He clicked his tongue with a sharp tsk, “I saved you from certain death and persecution and you’re angry with me? Oh, my love, see sense.” He breathed.

You slowly sat up, your joints popping and cracking as if you hadn’t moved in years. As much as you hated it, he was still absolutely breathtaking. You’d secretly hoped that the volcra would’ve mauled him beyond repair, but you had no such luck. He still stared at you with those beautiful, dark eyes, and you shifted uncomfortably.

“I do see sense, and that’s why I have nothing to say to you.” You whispered, shaking your head.

“Perhaps you’re just a bit embarrassed.”

You scoffed.

“Embarrassed by what, Aleksander?”

He smiled. He seemed to relish his name leaving your mouth and you made a mental note not to use it further to deprive him of such satisfaction.

“Embarrassed that I was right and you were wrong. What did I tell you, little love? I warned you that you would return home to hatred. Did I not?” He asked and gazed over at you, his hands resting on his thighs.

You looked down at his hands. There was a large, black crater of a scar on the back of his hand and you wondered what had happened there. The veins around this scar were all black, looking poisonous under the skin. You fought back a chill.

You never answered him, but he let out a soft sigh and he reached out to gently take your chin in his hand. You pulled away and turned your head away from him entirely.

“Poor girl. You’ve finally had your first taste of persecution. Tell me, how does it feel?” He asked and reached out to grab your chin again. He turned your head towards him carefully and he stared into your eyes, “How lonely has it been? To lose everyone you thought loved you because of their fear? Their judgment?“ he asked.

You dared to look him in the eyes finally and you wished you hadn’t. Despite his words, his eyes were uncharacteristically soft. He looked at you as if you were something he cherished, something he loved endlessly. You wondered if he was capable of faking that. There was a desperate trace of longing in his gaze and you watched his lips twitch downwards just slightly, a change so subtle that if you were anyone else, you may have missed it.

“It doesn’t matter.” You finally answered, dropping your gaze away from his.

He let out a sigh and let go of your chin before he reached out and grasped your hands. His skin was just as cold as you had remembered it to be, if not colder now. You wondered if he felt the icy chill that was his skin.

“If you had just stayed by my side, you would’ve never felt lonely. I wouldn’t have let you. Not a single day would have gone by where you felt anything less than loved. Adored. Worshiped, even.” He whispered, looking down at your joined hands. Of course you knew that.

You looked down at your hands, too.

There was such a stark contrast when you looked down. His hands were scarred and they were strong, with traces of black swimming in the veins just beneath his fair skin. He wore his wedding ring on his finger still, but on the correct finger, whereas you wore yours on your middle finger where it was ill fitting. Your hands were smaller than his, and your skin was unmarked by scars; smooth. You had the hands of someone whose life had been easy. He dropped your hands and he plucked your ring right off of your middle finger before sliding it onto the correct finger, and although you felt you should have, you didn’t stop him and made no move to correct it once he let go.

You kept your eyes on your hands and he slowly stood up from the bed and let out a small sigh.

“You can live in denial, but not forever. You’ll find it’ll be far easier if you let me in rather than fight me.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on top of your head, “For what it’s worth, I’ve missed you, in every way a person can be missed. I’ve missed your presence in the mornings, I’ve missed your smile, your laugh, even your attitude I’ve found myself missing. I know that deep down, you’ve missed me too. Otherwise you would have rid yourself of that ring long ago.” He observed and then he placed his hand on top of your head, smoothing your hair back.

“You don’t hate me, you’ve just had your mind filled with the lies of martyrs. You weren’t meant to be a martyr, y/n. You weren’t meant to sacrifice your happiness just because it was the ‘righteous’ thing to do. You were meant to be a queen. Deny that as you may, but I know it to be true, and perhaps somewhere in that pretty little head of yours, you do too.”

He knelt down at the side of the bed and looked up at you with a soft, understanding smile. He seemed so pleased to be looking at you.

“I do love you. I will never turn you away. When you’re ready to accept that, I will be here with open arms.” He murmured and placed his hands on his knees as he looked up at you.

You stared down at him and you shook your head slowly.

“And what if I never do?”

He smiled, but didn’t say anything. He rose up from his knees and he wandered across the room towards the door. He opened it up and paused before walking out into the hall.

“I’m a patient man. The word ‘never’ is so wasted on such a mortal girl. You’ll change your mind, and when you do, I’ll be there.” He said softly before exiting the room, leaving you alone in the dark, his words sending a chill through you that you couldn’t get rid of, no matter how far under the blankets you slid.

You had been given free rein of the strange little sanctuary that the Grisha siding with Aleksander had thrown together. It wasn’t very interesting, by any means, and your days passed slowly. Very, very slowly.

You had yet to see anyone that you knew, though. You recognized a few faces from the Little Palace, but beyond that, it seemed like everyone you knew had either died or taken to the other side. With no David or Genya, or even Ivan around to entertain you, you’d taken to making the acquaintance of an Alkemi boy named Vladim.

Vladim couldn’t have been very old, perhaps nineteen at the most. He was always tirelessly working on little things in his makeshift laboratory, but when you asked about them, he always answered you the same.

“I don’t think you’d have much understanding of the subject matter, and alas, I don’t think the Darkling would be very pleased if I discussed it with you.” He would say, almost word for word, every time.

He wasn’t overly friendly, but you could tell that he appreciated the company in one way or another.

You had done your best to avoid Aleksander during the day, and you were usually quite successful in that endeavor, but you couldn’t avoid him at night. He didn’t give you your own room, he simply told you that you’d share his and left it at that. Arguing with him would’ve been futile. His skirmish with the Fold and with his newfound shadow warriors left him with a certain roughness that you’d never known him to have before. There was a certain ruggedness to him now, a certain edge that made the hair at the back of your neck stand up. He had always been hungry for power, but now he was ruthless. He had always commanded respect, but now he forced it. He seemed to be slipping into madness, slowly. He used to be a sharp, shining sword, cutting fast and without much pain. Now he was like a worn, serrated knife. It worried you, but you tried to push that down as far as you could. You shouldn’t worry about him. Let him destroy himself, it wasn’t your problem.

So why did it feel like it was your problem?

You tried to remind yourself daily that his destruction wasn’t your responsibility and that he was bringing it upon himself, but it became increasingly harder and harder to remember that.

Every night ended the same, though.

You’d lay in his bed, as far onto your side as you could possibly get, and you’d always pretend to be asleep when he finally came in. He’d shuffle around the room silently for a while, getting himself ready for bed, and then he’d lay down on his side of the bed. Like clockwork, ten minutes later, he would move towards you as if he were being pulled by strings like a puppet and he’d wrap you in his arms. He would whisper promises to keep you safe in your ear and he would run his fingers through your hair. Murmurs of proclamations of love would also be uttered into your ear, and he would whisper your name as if it were scripture.

You wondered if he knew that you weren’t really asleep, which led you to wonder if he even cared.

He would oftentimes press his lips to your temple and stay there for a long time before pulling away. Some nights you would really end up falling asleep in his arms, and other nights you would stay awake and he would eventually let you go and he’d tuck the blankets around your body, just as you liked them. It took you by surprise the first time he did that, because you didn’t expect him to remember such small details.

Tonight was seemingly not much different than the other nights. His arms were circled around your waist and he had his chin resting on top of your head. He had fallen completely silent and had been for quite a while now, his tender whispers ceasing quite some time ago. You knew better than to believe he had fallen asleep, though. You could see it in his face daily- he didn’t get much sleep. Not anymore. You frowned slightly at the thought and you nearly shook your head, catching yourself at the last second.

“I’m not a fool enough to believe that you are asleep right now, my love.” His voice was low and you felt his arms tighten around you ever so slightly.

You didn’t say anything, but you opened your eyes and pursed your lips, biting anxiously at the inside of your cheek.

“I know perhaps you take me for a fool, though. Maybe you’re right to. I’ve been foolish with you. Lied to you. Treated you like you were a pawn. If I’m being honest with myself and you, though, I should admit that earning your love was my greatest achievement. I don’t think I’ve lost it, not fully, at least, but perhaps my greatest loss has been making you question that love that you had so graciously given me.” He spoke, his voice taking on a strange and sentimental tone. He seemed to think for a moment before he tapped your waist with his thumb, “Have I?”

You blinked a few times, not bothering to look up at his face. You doubted you would’ve seen it, anyway. The room was pitch black.

“Have you, what?” You finally replied, hands balling into fists as you pressed your nails into your palms.

“Lost your love?”

Your brows knitted together and you frowned, “Yes,” you answered immediately, but you were immediately struck with the pain of guilt in your chest and you suddenly shook your head, “I mean, no. No, I don’t think so.” You choked out, “I don’t think you could. Not entirely, and I hate you for that.”

The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them, though you weren’t sure what you regretted more; admitting that you still loved him or admitting that you held contempt towards him for the way you felt. The admission left a sour taste in your mouth, yet you felt as if a hundred weights had been lifted off of your chest. The relief juxtaposed with the sour taste of shame on your tongue was jarring and you pressed your lips together as tightly as you could, as if to create some kind of seal that would prevent you from speaking further.

He seemed to mull this answer over for a while, staying silent for more than just a few moments. You could picture his eyes, even though you weren’t actively looking into them. When he was lost in thought, they seemed even deeper than they already were, and oftentimes you felt that was an impossible feat.

Finally, he spoke.

“I can understand your hatred for the inner conflict you must be faced with. I haven’t exactly made this easy for you.” He replied, his voice calm and completely even, “If I could stop this all right now, I would. But I can’t, y/n. No one is going to look out for the Grisha except for me. Not even Alina Starkov.”

“You don’t know that if you never give her the opportunity to try, Aleksander.” You insisted, voice barely above a whisper.

“No, but I do. I do know that. She’s too young. She knows nothing of the power she wields and she knows not how to use it, she couldn’t even begin to grasp the importance of power. It’s simply a new toy to her. Something to play with until she tires of the novelty,” his hand traveled along your back as he held you and you felt him take a silent inhale, “I find myself wishing so often that it was you.” He murmured, lips finding your ear.

You didn’t understand what he meant, so you furrowed your brow together and you shook your head.

“What do you mean?”

His lips hovered over your ear and you felt the tip of his nose in your hair, sending unwanted shivers down your arms and over the back of your neck.

“I would give anything, anything, if it meant you could’ve been my Sun Summoner.” He whispered, his arms tightening around you frantically, as if he were afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t keep you close. And perhaps you might.

You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t even sure how to feel. You had always compared yourself to Alina in one way or another during her time at the Little Palace, though you’d never wished her gift upon yourself. You had never even thought to. His words made you feel cold in the very pit of your stomach and you bit down on the inside of your cheek sharply. Alina and Aleksander would go on to make history. They would make legends. The Sun Summoner and the Shadow Summoner. The Sun Saint and the Darkling. In a hundred years, people would pray to beautiful statues of Sankta Alina, Aleksander would be written into Grisha history and Ravkan legend. But in a hundred years for you? You’d be a name on the Lantsov family tree. Always royal, never reigning. Perhaps someone distantly related to you a hundred years from now would make a pitied remark about how Queen Tatiana and King Pyotr the Third married their poor daughter off to some wicked man, but no one could ever confirm it. It was simply oral history. You would be lost to time, whereas time would be lost on them. They’d be living their second lifetime and you would be nothing but bone buried deep in the dirt. You squeezed your eyes shut at the thought and instead of speaking, you shook your head.

You felt his hand slide up your back and over the back of your neck until it was nestled in the hair at the back of your head, holding you securely against his chest.

“Not because I wish you were Alina, no. I could never wish for such a thing. I wish it was you that could stand by my side, that it was you that would be my equipollent partner. I wish I didn’t wake at night in a cold sweat at the thought of you being so… mortal. I couldn’t care less if you had the power of the sun at your disposal, I could only care that you lived a hundred years at my side.” He said quietly, his voice quivering at the end of his sentence.

Of course Aleksander had proclaimed his love for you many times before, but he had never done so in such a manner. You had never even seen him cry, never heard his voice falter.

A shaky breath from his lips drew your eyes upwards. You very slowly pulled your head away from his and you looked up at his face. Though the room was dark and only lit up by the faintest of moonbeams filtering through a crack in the curtains, his eyes were still visible, darker than the dark around you, yet still shining as if they had thousands of stars in them. They sparkled with the threat of unshed tears and before you could stop yourself, you were lifting your hand towards his face. The moment your hand made gentle contact with his cheek, a single tear spilled out over his bottom lash line and rolled down his cheek gracefully. You’d never seen a tear fall gracefully before. He brought his own, scarred hand up and laid it on top of yours, holding your warm palm to his cheek. You could feel the raised skin of his scar on your hand and it was such an odd contrast to the smooth skin surrounding the scars.

His eyes slowly closed, but he didn’t let your hand move from his face. His breathing was erratic as if he were trying to hold back cries and he moved as close as he could to you without ending up on top of you.

“Your brother… Alina Starkov… Your mother… Father… none of them can offer you happiness. I can, darling. I can.” He whispered, his voice trembling, and for a moment, he wasn’t the Darkling. He was just a boy named Aleksander who had slowly lost everyone he could have ever cared for.

“But at what cost, Aleksander?” You asked softly, using all of your strength to enforce an armor around your heart. But you had deployed cracked armor.

“I don’t care what the cost is. I’d let a thousand men burn, I’d let armies fall, I’d ruin kingdoms and countries alike, I would kill countless if it meant that you would just stay. With me.” He breathed, another small tear escaping from the corner of his eye.

The sight was a powerful blow to your futile attempt at an armor.

No. He’s killed so many people for the selfish drive for power, and he hides it underneath the guise of what’s best for Grisha. You couldn’t stay.

“I don’t wish to see anyone burn. I don’t want armies to fall and counties to fall to ruin, I don’t want you to dedicate death to keeping me by your side, Aleksander. You made your choice and you chose power. I made mine and I chose the right thing. I can’t stay.” You weren’t sure who you were trying to convince, though. You or him?

His palm pressed against the back of your hand and he held it tightly against his face.

“You are the only light I’ve ever known, the only salvation I’ve ever been given. I’ve watched lives come and I’ve watched them pass, and I find no grief in it. I’ve spent my fair share of time grieving for those I’ve dared to care for and I’ve condemned it, I’ve sworn to not allow myself the luxury of grief again. So tell me why I’ve spent each day that I’ve loved you grieving for someone who has yet to draw their last breath? I grieve the loss of you that has yet to come. I will choose power day in and day out because I will never stop searching for a way, for a power, that can keep me from losing you.” His voice was weak, but it was determined and it was sincere.

Your mouth fell open just slightly as you listened to him and you very slowly brushed your thumb against the skin underneath his eye.

His eyes slowly flickered open and he stared down at you, his lips set into a frown. The unshed tears in his eyes and the look of terror and sorrow on his face made him seem much more human than you had ever seen him, likely ever.

Right now, he was just a man. A man gifted with too much power and bothered- no, burdened- with the threat of everlasting life. He wasn’t the Darkling and he wasn’t a Shadow Summoner. He was Aleksander, and he was trembling underneath your hand.

“To say that I love you would be so weak and listless, but to find stronger words, I’d have to start making them up. So, at the risk of sounding weak and listless, I love you. To the end of it all, whatever lies beyond that, even.“ he swallowed hard after speaking and you found your own eyes filling with tears. He wasn’t just saying he loved you, he was silently begging you to love him in return.

His actions and his quest for power wasn’t preferable, and you weren’t even sure if it was forgivable. Maybe it wasn’t, you weren’t sure. Could you find it within your heart to forgive him if he had begged you to? You weren’t sure of that, either. You found it strange how many months ago, it was you that was begging him for love, but now he was the one staring into your eyes, pleading without words.

It would hurt a lot to choose him again, because eventually you knew that for whatever high you would be on now, it would be a devastating low one day.

But it would hurt just the same to tear yourself out of your husband’s arms once again, this time after hearing him confess all that he had tonight. How could it be possible to love someone yet despise them all the same? He was always able to make you give in, and you resented him for that, but he also was the only one that understood you now. He understood what a fall from grace felt like, what it was like to have an entire nation turn their backs on you, how it felt to lose the faith of everyone you cared about.

His eyes and his beauty and his soft words always had you making mistakes before now, and you realized that the only way to not make these mistakes was to be far away from him. But you weren’t far away from him right now and you knew that you were bound to make a mistake again, in fact, you were hurtling towards that mistake right now.

A single word rolled off of his lips:

“Stay.”

The answer that begged to leave your mouth was antithetical to the decision you had made to run away from him in the first place and you felt guilty. Guilty for wanting him, guilty for not wanting him. To give him the affirmation he and you both wanted was to betray your country and your family. But they’d already betrayed you. You could almost hear Nikolai telling you that two wrongs didn’t make a right and that you were stronger than this.

But you didn’t think you were. You couldn’t be.

His fingers slid in between yours as he held your hand to his face and his eyes locked onto yours, daring you to give him the one answer he’d been searching for.

So you let it roll off your lips, no louder than an exhale:

“Okay.”

#grishaverse #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling imagine #the darkling x you #the darkling imagine #the darkling #the darkling x reader #general kirigan imagine #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes imagine

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haveyoureadthisscifibook · 4 months

Text

FAQ: read before submitting

a note re series: I am more than happy to queue up an entire series on request! if this is what you want, please indicate that explicitly in your submission, especially in cases where the first book in a series and the series as a whole have the same title. otherwise I need to ask for clarification, and it slows down the process of getting your submissions queued up.

where do I submit books?

here. before you submit books, though, please check the list of books that have already been posted or queued.

when submitting multiple books, please submit all of them in a single ask so it’s easier for me to keep track of, especially if you’re submitting them anonymously. also, please include the author’s name!

what counts as having “read” a book?

did you finish the book? then you’ve read it. if you did not finish the book, you have not read it.

do audiobooks / having a book read to you count as having “read” a book?

do you think you’ve “read” the book? then you’ve read it. I’m not here to police your experiences or your relationships with physical books / ebooks / audiobooks / whatever.

does [graphic novel / manga / manhua] count as a “book”?

for the purposes of this poll, a book is a prose narrative, so graphic novels and other visual media with text do not count as “books”.

does [“novella” / “novelette” / short story] count as a “book’?

was it ever published in the form of a book, by itself (i.e., not as part of a collection of texts)? then yes. I don’t care if it was a 10-page pamphlet or a 1000-page behemoth: if it was published on its own, it’s a book. ebook releases count, but short stories published in periodicals (including online periodicals like Uncanny or Strange Horizons) do not.

the one exception is things like The Fellowship of the Ring, which is explicitly the first volume of a single, larger book — in a case like this you would submit The Lord of the Rings, rather than its component volumes.

does [short story collection] count as a “book”?

for the purposes of this poll, no, unless the stories are linked into some kind of overarching whole. simply sharing a common setting does not qualify (so Yoon Ha Lee’s Hexarchate Stories would not count as a “book”).

what about [series] as a whole?

no. this blog is asking about single books. feel free to submit multiple books in a series if you’re so inclined, though!

what counts as “sci-fi”?

if you think something should count as sci-fi, feel free to submit it. I haven’t read every book, and I have a flexible definition of the genre. there are some limits to my flexibility, but as long as it is set in the future, has some kind of futuristic technology, is set an an alternate timeline, or includes other non-realist phenomena that are explained (pseudo)scientifically, I’ll probably consider it sci-fi.

I’m a bit more ambivalent about older texts — I tend to think that something like Lucian’s True History (for example) can’t really be meaningfully said to be science fiction, for all that it involves space travel. once we start getting into early modern philosophical novels like More’s Utopia we’re on somewhat firmer ground, but really only in the nineteenth century do we start getting things I would unequivocally consider to be science fiction.

note that I am definitely willing to include works of science fantasy like Tamsyn Muir’s The Locked Tomb books or Piers Anthony’s Incarnations of Immortality, as long as there’s clearly sci-fi stuff going on along with the magic.

what about fantasy?

there’s a blog for that. :-)

does it have to be in English?

no! I read a number of languages and would be more than happy to include books in any language. the demographics of tumblr mean that you’re probably unlikely to get an overall “yes” result for something not in English unless it has a very popular English translation, but I’m happy to post the poll anyway — and maybe get some book recommendations in the languages I read. :-)

you can see links to all the language tags on this blog here.

why don’t you include blurbs for the books in these polls?

there are both practical and ideological reasons for this. tl;dr, it’s a lot of work, presents logistical problems for books not originally published in English, and there are books and authors that I categorically don’t want to promote beyond showing people the cover.

————————

check the #faq tag for additional questions and answers.

#faq

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k-dokja · 2 years

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DG/James Lee with his pregnant s/o? Fluff please? I’m quite the fan of your DG series I have them all saved! 🥰

D'aww thank you 🥺

— I was not joking when I said all of his kids are equally accidental, okay. He's super ambivalent about passing on his genetics, so unless you feel strongly about kids one way or another, he likely would never mention it himself.

That said if you got pregnant after one of your escapades, he will defer to you about whether the two of you will keep the kid or not. He has a very "it is what it is" attitude about the whole thing.

&. If you've been trying for one, great! If not, then whatever comes up next is your decision. However, if you planned to keep the baby anyway then he has a bit of a "hm." moment where he worked out the logistic. Don't worry, he's not upset, he's simply trying to plan around having a baby.

Probably takes up less work so he can have more time with you. Publicly uses something like "need time to recuperate before the next album" but privately, his closest confidants know.

&. He's good at the preparation either way. A lot of the process of pregnancy is intuitive for him even if he didn't plan for any of this. He will begin to look up what is necessary and what isn't. If he happened to be the more organized one out of the two, then he will map out everything you need to do, from check-ups to diets, to exercise.

He'd encourage you to continue doing light exercises while carrying, it's good to maintain your good habits even while you're having a baby.

&. Because of your hormone imbalance, he will advise you to not take up as much work to avoid adding to your stress. He's infinitely patient with you and rarely loses his temper even when you're having a mood swing. Almost nothing you do can annoy him either, even if you're being clingy.

Even if you get jealous over his fans, he'd endure it in silence unless you act out somehow. The man literally transforms into a saint during these periods.

&. If the two of you haven't gone public before, then he'd notify his fan about him becoming a father anyway without divulging your identity. It'd be for the best that he's honest with his fans but he also needs to prioritize your well-being.

Maybe at a later date, near the birth. However, if he can, he probably keeps all of this under wrap if possible.

&. He's really good at giving you massages to help alleviate any of your aches. Foot, shoulder, boob, whatever it is, say the words and he will help you out. Most of the time in bed, however, he functions like your personal teddy bear and allows you to cuddle him however you pleased.

You already have his card anyway so if you have any pregnancy cravings, feel free to go on ahead and order. However, if you want something in the middle of the night, he'll be the embodiment of that "yes, honey" meme and climb out of bed to get it for you.

&. Is really good with any of your nausea if he's around. Always there to help you breathe through it, and if it gets bad enough that you throw up, he'll tie your hair back for you and stroke your back. He listens attentively to any of the doctor's recommendation and brings up any of your possible allergies or past symptoms if necessary.

He doesn't really get more enthusiastic even when the two of you visit the ob-gyn. Don't blame him for it though, it's how his face is. Might crack a joke or two about the shape of the baby after you got the ultrasound to relieve the tension.

&. Secretly finds it cute when you waddle during the later semester. Won't admit to anything unless you were seriously prodding. Find it even cuter if you got annoyed with him because of his reasoning. He also low-key likes how you look wearing maternal clothes. Just adorable all around.

He also gets a little more energetic when the two of you are out shopping for clothes and other baby necessities, too. While he has a whole list of things to buy for the baby, there's also a lot of planning around clothes since babies often grow out of them fast.

Buying for daughters is much more fun for him because of how varied little girls' clothes are. Although, his kid will get animal-themed clothes either way because of how cute they are. Look at the bear ears.

&. Will probably take you on a vacation before the baby comes so you can have your final moments to kick back and relax before the next few years of hell. Because he has the money for it, your babymoon will be somewhere nice and far, ranging from one to two weeks.

Probably at a resort where nothing but peace and quiet await the two of you. Honestly, half of this is for him, too, but he won't say that out loud and focus on you.

#dg x reader #dg lookism #james lee #james lee x reader #lookism #lookism x reader #headcanons

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still-with-koo · 1 year

Text

Just Neighbours | MYG | KSJ

Series: Chapter One

summary: You move to a new city hoping to leave behind all the fragmented memories of your past. But the universe has other plans for you. Instead of helping you move on from the one person that haunts you still, the universe brings him straight to you. Is it a cruel joke, or is fate taking its final aim?

pairing: yoongi x reader; seokjin x reader; maybe some jimin x reader

wc: 2,211

genre/warnings/rating: 15+; slow burn; angst; fluff; exes to something… maybe friends, maybe lovers; some idiots to lovers; some enemies to friends to lovers; there’s pining, more so in future chapters; some pov switches; mentions of emotional abuse; mentions of infidelity; mentions of stringing someone along; some (poor) attempts at humour; oc gets embarrassed a lot; oc can be a bit insensitive; a few swear words; some self esteem issues come up down the line; kissing; sexual innuendos; suggestive themes; there may be explicit sexual content in future chapters. the characters in this story are my own and do not reflect on the members of bts or anyone else. this is all made up and just for fun, please don’t take it too seriously!

playlist: song request by lee sora feat. suga; fairytale by seori; independence by blue.d

a/n: this was my first attempt at a slow burn angst-heavy series. it’ll take a few (hopefully) unexpected turns with a few broken hearts, angry words, and some cozy loving strewn throughout the series

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4

The sunlight feels comforting against the bare skin peeking out beneath your overalls. You take in a deep breath, adjusting the box of plants and books hinging against your hip. These are the final remnants of your old life. Things that bring about a comforting nostalgia that can evolve with you.

You look both ways before crossing the street, leaving behind the bus stop that connects your past life with your new one. Your new life begins at this moment and you are ready.

Sure, you’re nervous about leaving your family and friends behind in a town that served you well. But you need a fresh start. You need to take your mind off the painful memories that had plagued your empty thoughts these last few years.

Past a sweet old couple guiding each other down the street, you spot Hinton Towers. Beautiful and majestic against the skyline littered with soft cotton clouds and a deep blue tinted sky. To the untrained eye, it looks like any other high rise home to countless others living in this beautiful city. But there is one very distinct difference. It’s yours.

You push open the glass doors with some effort, smiling brightly at the pretty girl in a muted pantsuit passing you through the doors.

The reception area is right next to the entrance. A slightly harried, hunched over woman is typing away at her keyboard, seemingly ambivalent to the bustle of people crowding the lobby area.

You take in the whole view. It’s beautiful. Well lit with the help of ceiling length windows and bright lights adorning the eggshell speckled walls. Marble tiles extend across the large expanse of the floors and lead right up to two giant columns standing guard on either side of the double elevators.

Your eye catches on the couches. The well kept interior contrasts rather unexpectedly with the unusual couches lining the lobby, an ugly chartreuse colour that seems out of place in the otherwise beautiful space.

You walk past the ugly couches and sturdy wooden tables to the bespectacled receptionist, a bright “good morning” your attempt at a good first impression.

She lifts her head towards you, her brows furrowing as she takes in your smiling face. Her response to you sounds more like a question than a greeting.

“Hello?”

“I’m Y/N L/N. I was told they’ve put me in 1905?”

The receptionist returns to her monitor and types away for a few moments before letting out a “hmm, ah yes, I see.”

She pushes her half-rimmed spectacles back up her nose, a forced smile now straining her features.

“Yes, your room been changed to accommodate another resident. I’ll retrieve your new set of keys. Drop your old ones in that slot.”

She gestures vaguely down the counter and you follow her gaze to a small receptacle. You struggle with the box still hanging off your hip but manage to remove the first set from your pocket.

When you return she is still rummaging inside the counter to find your keys.

As you wait, you ask her what you think is a pretty logical question.

“What about the stuff I had already moved in?”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance as she answers, as if the answer should be obvious to you.

“They’ve been removed and relocated to your new room,” she stops her movements to look up at you with a click her tongue, “room 1905.”

You watch her with mild interest as she returns to rummaging through the drawer when you hear it.

A soft chuckle. The one that sends bolts of electricity down your spine. The vibrations from the sound still your movements and heighten your senses. Your mind floods with every moment that preceded this one containing that same soft chuckle. The bright twinkling eyes, the gummy smile, the rumble of his chest against your back, the way his calloused hands would always find a way to wrap around yours.

It can’t be.

You slowly turn towards the sound and take in the crowd of faces, each one both familiar and strange at the same time. But none of them bring on the pang you know his face would bring.

You shake your head sadly, realizing the ghost of him haunts you still, reminding you that you’re still not over him.

Then you feel it. Your heart registers his face before you do. And you see him.

Emerging from behind the obelisk column is the soft angelic face of the man you never thought you would see again. Min Yoongi. His hair is much darker now, but there is no mistaking him.

You have only a split second to decide your next move before his eyes land on you.

“Miss L/N, here are your—”

Your fight or flight response kicks in and before you realize, you’re diving behind the ugly couch, nearly scattering the contents of your box. But you hold on, setting the box down carefully and leaning back against your hands.

As you catch your breath you assure yourself he didn’t see you. That’s a relief at least.

It’s been such a long time since you last saw him. The last thing you want to do right now is have an awkward reunion. And what would you say to him? What could you say?

“Miss L/N. What are you doing down there?”

You look up towards her voice, noticing the receptionist is now on her feet and straining over the countertop.

You mouth an “I’m sorry” before pressing an index finger to your lips, your eyes desperately pleading with her not to give you away.

The receptionist on the other hand doesn’t seem to understand nor care about your predicament. Ignoring your plea, she holds out your keys, a stern, annoyed look etched across her rather severe features.

“Miss, please take your keys.”

You once again mouth words to her, asking her to wait “just one second.”

She stares back in amazement, clearly not able to put two and two together. Was it not obvious that you were hiding?

You can’t help but sigh at this unusual turn of events. This was not the first impression you were hoping to make at your new apartment. But at this point, you’re too far gone. It’s too late to pull out now.

You take in a few deep breaths and get on your knees to covertly peer over the edge of the couch.

He’s gone.

Relieved, you gather your box and rise to your feet when you catch a dark figure cross the floor towards the counter.

You freeze.

It’s Yoongi.

“Hi Muriel. I was wondering if my package came in yet? They said it would be any day now.”

The receptionist’s attention shifts to the man standing in front of her. And so does yours.

You bite your lip.

He’s a little buffer than you remember, his broad back and shoulders filling out his grey t-shirt much more than they used to.

Shit. You shouldn’t be thinking about that.

Ok, focus Y/N.

Did he see you?

Unlikely.

You notice the receptionist’s hand is still extended towards you, keys perched precariously between her fingertips.

Well… they are your keys.

Without a second thought, you step towards the counter and snatch your keys. The receptionist gasps at your touch, startled by your boldness once again. Of course.

But you also startle Yoongi.

Anxious to grab your keys, you’re careless in your movements and accidentally brush against Yoongi as you reach for them. You sense his face turn towards you at the touch.

For a split second, it feels like time stands still. His woodsy scent wafts to your nostrils and a memory settles into your vision, the morning he thanked you for buying him this cologne, his strong arms wrapping around your body, his lips on your neck. You hear your heart thud against your chest, confusing emotions swirling in your head.

But you don’t linger, whispering a quick “sorry” before turning away, foot steps quick and determined.

You keep your eyes trained on the elevators in your sight. Just a few metres before you’re clear—

“Y/N?”

The sound of Yoongi’s voice stops you dead in your tracks. You shift the box a little in your arms as you contemplate your options.

None.

Alright, you knew this day would come. No big deal. Just turn around and say hello. Hello Yoongi. Just like that. It’ll be fine.

As you slowly turn around, you hear a melodic voice ring out, the sound drawing the attention of everyone in her immediate vicinity.

“Yoongs, what is taking you so long? I can’t keep the car idling.”

You catch sight of the pretty girl from before, the one in the muted pantsuit. Her hands are now clinging onto his arm, attempting to drag him away.

But hold on. That’s not Miranda… is it?

Memories upon memories sift through your mind but it seems the intervening years have functioned as a sieve, leaving only Yoongi to remain. You can’t seem to place her face anymore. Nor her voice, even if her last words to you are burned into your brain.

“He was always mine, Y/N. You were just a fun little distraction.”

Yoongi pulls away a bit from the girl, his words soft but a little rushed.

“It won’t be long, I just wanted to—”

Yoongi turns back towards you, his eyes searching for yours, trying to confirm his suspicion. It’s you. He’s sure of it. It has to be you.

But you’re gone.

You’re now jabbing the close button on the elevator panel like your life depends on it. As the doors close you glance through the slit and see Yoongi looking at the spot where you had been standing — the ghost of you.

You then see his gaze shift towards the elevators. Towards you.

Right before the doors close you swear you make eye contact.

But it doesn’t matter.

You had promised yourself you would do everything you could to forget him. The years in between have not been easy but you’ve done well for yourself. You’re no longer a broken shell. Maybe you’re still working on wiping away the graffiti of his name on your heart, but you will never stop trying to move on. And you will move out from the building if you have to. A promise is a promise.

Yoongi is left staring at the elevator doors close as the girl watches him curiously.

Her eyes follow Yoongi’s gaze and it dawns on her that she must have interrupted something.

“Who was that, Yoongi?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer her though.

Instead he just puts his hands in his pockets, eyes still glued to partition between the elevator doors.

After a moment, he faces the girl again, a ghost of a smile tracing over his lips.

“Ready to go, Rosie?”

Later that night, you lie awake in your new bed, an ache in your chest as thoughts float through the endless sky of your mind, unsure if you miss your old bed… or something else.

At least you don’t have to worry about moving. Your best friend calmed you down after your run-in with Yoongi, convincing you to stay.

“I’ve been living at my building for years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen more than a handful of my neighbours. Moving is too drastic, Y/N.”

“I know, Jimin. It’s just… I don’t know if I can handle seeing him again.”

“Come on, what are the chances of running into him again?”

“About the same as they were today.”

“Fair. But what are the chances of running into him a second time?”

It’s immaterial either way. This is your home just as much as it is his. You don’t have to rearrange your entire life because of him. You just have to stay away from him. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?

108 notes · View notes

mackenzielovee · 2 years

Text

parenthood part seven: ingenuous

a/n: hi ! nervous but excited, i hope it's decent at least lmao. please leave all thoughts and opinions and i'll have pt 8 up soon! so much love xoxo

warnings: swearing, fighting, lil bit of crying, mentions of sex

ambivalence masterlist , parenthood masterlist

You stand outside Connor’s classroom texting Rafe as you wait for the preschool day to end. Rafe’s been sending you videos all day of Josie giggling, and you’d been watching them at work just to make your day better. You let him know that you’re waiting to grab Connor and then the two of you will be home, but you’re drawn out of your text message by a shadow over you. You glance up and smile, meeting the eyes of Connor’s new friend’s dad.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greets you.

He’d introduced himself to you as Nico, which you quickly learned was short for Nicolás. His little boy, Daniel, had become close with Connor since their school started, and you couldn’t be more thrilled. Both of them are kind, polite, and Connor has a lot of fun with Daniel.

“Nico, hi,” you smile, “How are you?”

He leans against one of the pillars, crossing his arms in front of him. His grin is effortless, you think, although it’s nothing to the feeling you get when Rafe smiles at you like that.

“I’m starting to think this day gets shorter and shorter,” he jokes, “I feel like I just dropped him off.”

“Aw, I’m always ready to pick him up,” you say, “I miss him after five minutes.”

He laughs, which makes you laugh. The classroom door opens and Ms. Angie, their teacher, smiles widely at the two of you.

“Connor and Daniel have been playing all day,” she says.

The two of you laugh and walk inside, finding Connor and Daniel standing together, putting their backpacks on.

“They’re going to be best friends,” Nico says to you with a grin.

“Looks like it,” you agree.

Connor’s head shifts, and at the smallest look, he recognizes you and smiles immediately.

“Mama!” he cheers, running across the room.

You squat down and take him into your arms once he reaches you, giving him a hug.

“Hi, baby,” you smile, “How was your day?”

“I played outside with Daniel,” he says.

“You did? Did you have fun?”

Nico laughs from above you, and you meet his eyes with a smile. Not far behind Connor comes Daniel, launching himself into his father’s arms.

“A lot of fun,” Connor nods, “Can Daniel come to our house? I told him about Josie and my soccer ball. He wants to play.”

You glance over at Nico and Daniel, who meets your eye and starts to shake his head with a shy smile on his face.

“We could get them together another day, if you want–”

“Mama, please,” Connor begs.

You stand up and take Connor’s hand in yours, giving it a squeeze. Nico removes Daniel’s backpack, then picks him up, holding him expertly against his chest.

“We don’t have anything going on this afternoon, so if it works for you two, it works for us,” you smile.

“Are you sure?” he asks, “I wouldn’t want to impose–”

“Not at all. We have a baby, so the house might be a little messy, but we’d love to have you guys over.”

“Yes!” Connor cheers, “Let’s go.”

You laugh and tug Connor back by his hand before he can run off, listening to Nico laugh, too. You unlock your phone and skim over a text from Rafe, reading:

Work thing. Taking Jo with me. Be home in a few hours. I’ll grab dinner, just tell me what you want. Love you, baby.

You swipe out of it before you respond, making a mental note to do it later. Then, you pull up a new contact and type Nico’s name into the bar, then hand it over for his number.

“I’ll text you our address,” you explain.

He nods and takes a hold of your phone, quickly typing his number into it and handing it back.

“I appreciate this, Y/N. Is there anything I can grab on the way over, or–”

“Not at all,” you wave him off, “I’ve got snacks for the boys and adult food for us.”

He laughs, “Great. We’ll see you soon, won’t we, Daniel?”

“Yes,” he chirps, “Bye, Connor.”

“Bye, Daniel,” he waves.

You and Nico exchange goodbyes, then you start out to the parking lot. Connor, with the promise of a friend coming over, doesn’t protest once when you put him in his carseat and buckle him in. Instead, he chats endlessly about what he and Daniel can do together.

When the two of you arrive home, you hurry in and try to clean up at least half of the living room. You’re sure Nico doesn’t really care, but you also want to look like you have your life halfway together.

You’re thankful Nico takes his time driving over, and when the doorbell rings twenty minutes later, you feel like you’ve at least got a grip on the messy house.

“They’re here, Mama! Can I get it?” Connor requests, being pulled to the foyer.

“Hold on, handsome. I’m coming,” you call.

You follow Connor to the front door and pull it open, greeting Nico and Daniel with a smile the second you see them.

“Hey, guys. Come on in,” you wave them inside.

Nico smiles and thanks you quietly while Connor grabs Daniel’s hand and starts to rush off.

“We’re gonna play, Mommy,” Connor yells to you over his shoulder.

“Okay, but no–” he cuts you off by running to the play room and pushing the door open, “Running.”

Nico chuckles, which makes you laugh. When you turn back to him, he seems to be taking you in, smiling as he does so, but you brush it off.

“Daniel runs everywhere, too,” he tells you, “I never know where he has to rush off to so fast.”

“Right?” you laugh, “It’s all their energy. I wish I had that.”

“Me too.”

You chuckle, which makes him smile. It’s the kind of smile that takes up his whole face, and you’re sure that smile is his charm.

Connor’s been in school for weeks now, and you’d never seen anyone other than Nico pick Daniel up. Although, you think, Rafe’s only been there to drop off or pick up a few times, given his work schedule is less flexible than yours. Although you’re curious, you won’t ask.

“I was just about to make some tea,” you volunteer, even though it’s a lie and you were not even close to thinking about making tea, “Would you like some?”

“I’d love it,” he agrees.

You smile and lead him into the kitchen, the one you’d expertly cleaned in five minutes by shoving all of the dishes into the dishwasher and everything else into random cabinets, and grab the kettle from the stove.

“You have a beautiful home,” he remarks, his eyes traveling around the room.

“Oh, thank you. That’s very kind.”

He hums in response, watching you fill the kettle with water at the sink.

“Sometimes I worry that Daniel hates my apartment,” he confesses, “He sees houses around the school and asks me why we don’t live there. How do I explain to him that I just can’t afford it?”

You set the kettle on the stove and then turn around to face him, sympathy written all over your face. His jaw moves from side to side, telling you that he gets emotional just thinking about it. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth and think for a moment, urging your brain to come up with the right words.

“It’s not about the money,” you say, “I know that’s hard to agree with, but you’re a great dad from what I’ve seen. He’s loved and he’s cared for and fed. He has a shelter and someone looking out for him. That’s all he needs. I think it doesn’t matter where all that happens from, because a big house isn’t going to make him love you any more than he already does, you know?”

Nico’s eyes flash with an emotion you don’t recognize, but when his lips tip up, you relax. You give him a small smile and he returns it, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Thank you for saying that,” he replies, “I think I really needed to hear it.”

“It’s all true,” you shrug, “I didn’t strain myself.”

He laughs then, and it feels like the energy in the room shifts. He glances over and sees the faucet dripping even though the sink is off.

“Does it do that all the time?” he asks you, nodding his head to the sink.

You nod, “My husband tried to fix it, but he couldn’t. We’re gonna have to call someone.”

Nico’s eyebrows furrow and he slightly shakes his head to himself.

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

The kettle whistles behind you, distracting you. You just shake your head at him as you turn to grab it off the heat, then move to get mugs down.

“You don’t have to–”

“I don’t mind. I did some home repair work when I was a teenager. I promise I won’t make it worse.”

You laugh and give in, gesturing for him to go ahead. He kneels and opens up the cabinet underneath the sink while you pour the hot water into mugs and leave them to steep.

“Your husband have tools?” he calls, a slight grit in his voice you hadn’t noticed before.

“Yeah, I think they’re in the garage–”

You move to grab them while Nico stands up, placing his hand on your arm and wrapping around it.

“I can find them. You relax and drink your tea.”

You’re not sure if it’s the gentle look in his eye or the offer to remain still for more than ten seconds, but you nod. He flashes you another smile and heads off for the garage door, escaping out there quietly.

He returns with Rafe’s toolbox and holds it up victoriously. You smile and offer him a mug with his tea in it, which he accepts in his free hand.

“Thank you,” he says, then nods toward the sink, “It’s an easy fix. I’m surprised your husband couldn’t see it.”

You draw back from him at that remark, unsure of what that means. After a moment, when Nico squats again and extracts a tool from the box, you shake it out of your head. You’re sure he didn’t mean anything by it. He meant exactly what he said; Rafe just missed it. No big deal. He’ll probably be relieved he doesn’t have to pay someone to come out and fix it.

“All right, there we go,” he says, extracting himself from the cabinet and standing up straight, “Should be good now.”

He turns on the water, and then shuts it off again, and you can’t help but grin when you see how it doesn’t drip.

“Oh, my God,” you chuckle, “That’s been driving me crazy for a month now. Wow. Thank you so much, Nico.”

“Yeah, of course,” he smiles at you, closing up Rafe’s toolbox, then standing to wash his hands.

Your smile remains on your face long after he washes and dries his hands, then picks up his mug and takes a long sip.

“I can’t believe how easy that was for you,” you admit, “How long did you do repair work?”

“Three years. I got into construction after I found out Daniel’s mom was pregnant. The money is better.”

“Understandable,” you reply, for lack of a better response.

A part of you is dying to know if Nico and Daniel’s mom are together, although he gives the impression that they’re not – especially when he said my apartment. Another part of you doesn’t want to push if it’s not something he wants to discuss.

“She lives in California now,” he explains, “She’s got a husband and a kid. The husband owns his own company or some shit. That’s why I never really believe people when they say it’s not about the money.”

You frown and take another sip of tea, considering how painful that must have been for him.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “That must have been hard.”

He shrugs, “She gave me Daniel, so, it is what it is.”

You usher Nico into the living room to sit, and the two of you continue to discuss his life. He asks you about Connor and Josie, and if you’d ever be open to having more children. You mention Rafe a few times in passing, but Nico never asks follow-up questions regarding him. You just assume this is because he never married, and he doesn’t know what to ask or discuss. You both run out of tea quickly, but when you offer him something more, he politely declines. Nico is so easy to talk to that you don’t even notice how much time has gone by until you hear the garage door open.

“Baby? Whose car is that?” Rafe calls from the kitchen.

“My husband,” you explain to Nico, then turn to talk to Rafe, “Living room!”

Nico leans back on the couch and sets his arm behind his head, seemingly unaffected by Rafe’s entrance.

“I’d like to meet your daughter,” he tells you with a soft smile.

You grin, “He’ll have her. Hopefully she’s not fussy.”

“I can deal with fussy. Daniel was so fussy when he was a baby.”

“Really?” your lips form a pout, “So you’re an expert then?”

He laughs, “Absolutely.”

Rafe walks through the doorway and, with hesitant eyes, observes you seated on the couch with a man he doesn’t know. He has Josie in his arms, one hand rubbing up and down her back as he holds her.

“Hello,” he greets, and you can instantly tell he isn’t thrilled, “What’s up?”

You stand, and Nico follows your lead.

“Rafe, this is Daniel’s dad, Nico. The boys are playing in the front room,” you explain, “Nico, this is my husband, Rafe.”

Rafe removes his hand from Josie’s back and extends it toward Nico, who accepts it with a grin.

“Good to meet you,” Rafe says, “Connor talks about your son a lot.”

“Same with Daniel,” Nico replies, “Y/N and I got to talking today and decided to get together.”

Rafe extracts his hand then, straightening his back and puffing out his chest. You watch him and furrow your brows, wondering about his shift in behavior.

“Is that right?” Rafe asks in a clipped tone.

Before Nico can respond, you place your hand on Rafe’s arm and smile, earning his attention.

“Nico fixed the sink,” you tell him, hoping it will improve his mood, “Can you believe it? It stopped dripping.”

Rafe’s expression doesn’t change, “I told you I’d get someone out to fix it.”

“Now you don’t have to,” you say.

“Hm,” he hums, pursing his lips, “All right. Well, thanks for doing that, I guess.”

Nico nods once, “It was an easy fix.”

You don’t miss Rafe’s jaw clench, or the way his hand travels to your back and tightens around your shirt. He’s gripping you, as if staking a claim somehow, which has you holding back from rolling your eyes.

“Do you want to join us?” you ask Rafe, widening your eyes at him as if to silently tell him to calm down.

“Josie needs to be changed,” he replies, “It’s getting late, anyway. We need to focus on dinner.”

“Well–”

Nico stops you with the wave of his hand, “He’s right. It is late. Thank you so much for having us over, Y/N. And for the tea and company. We’ll have to do this again.”

“Absolutely,” you agree with a smile, “Let me walk you out.”

Nico grins at that, and when you swat Rafe’s hand from your back so you can walk away, his expression falls. You shrug at him, as if to ask what his problem is, to which he widens his eyes at you, telling you that you should already know.

“Oh, let me take care of the mugs–” Nico starts, but Rafe speaks over your shoulder.

“Leave them,” he states, “I’ll get them.”

You turn around to Nico, “But thank you for offering.”

Rafe scoffs behind you, but you make no move to turn around and look at him. You’re annoyed; he’d come in with an attitude and barely even gave Nico a chance before he decided to act territorial and rude. Nico offers you a small smile, then follows you to the front room to get the boys.

“Later, man,” he says to Rafe, who offers him a tip of the head in response.

Connor and Daniel both protest, but when you two promise them they can play again next week, they agree to part. You wave goodbye to Daniel and Nico as they back out of the driveway, then tell Connor to clean up the playroom before dinner. He agrees and hurries back into the room while you go hunt down Rafe.

He’d changed Josie and now stands in the kitchen with her in her baby base on the counter. He’s on his phone, and when you enter, he glances up at you only for a moment before looking back down again. You just stand there, the kitchen island between the two of you, waiting for him to speak.

“He’s into you,” he mutters, placing his phone down on the counter.

You scoff, “You’re ridiculous. Is that why you were being so rude?”

“I was rude because he was sizing me up.”

“Sizing you up?” you repeat, “We’re not in high school, Rafe. He knows that we’re married. You’re the one who was giving off the weird energy–”

“I was trying to make it clear that you are not up for grabs,” he defends himself.

“He knows that!” you exclaim, “Are you seriously going to get all jealous right now?”

He draws back a step, his jaw winding tightly. He eyes Josie, placing her pacifier back in her mouth before he speaks.

“I’m asking you to imagine how I felt just now. I sent you a text three hours ago that you didn’t bother to respond to, then came home and found a man sitting beside you on our couch with no other person in sight. Then, I reach out to touch you, and you smack me away. So, yes, I got a little possessive. Trust me when I tell you that you would, too.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” you snap, “Because I trust your judgment. And I certainly wouldn’t be rude to a guest in our home just because I was feeling insecure.”

“Now I’m insecure?” he questions, his voice raising slightly, “Y/N, it’s not about me trusting you, it’s about some guy in our home with you that I’ve never met. I don’t know who he is, what he’s capable of. Of course I don’t trust him around you–”

“So, you’re saying I have to run every guest by you now?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he groans.

“That’s exactly what you just said. If you haven’t met them, they’re not welcome in our home, right?”

He groans again and buries his face in his hands. You watch as he rubs his eyes with his palms, then looks up at you again.

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to tell you how I feel. I don’t want to fight.”

You hear Connor’s feet as he approaches the kitchen, hurrying in and tucking his hand into yours.

“I’m hungry, Mama,” he tells you.

You give him a forced smile and reach down, grabbing him underneath the armpits and setting him down on the counter in front of you. Reluctantly, Rafe moves around the island and steps beside you, in front of Connor.

“Hey, squirt. How was your day?”

Connor grins and takes Rafe’s hand, “It was so fun, Daddy.”

“Good,” Rafe smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “What do you want for dinner?”

“Pizza,” Connor replies immediately.

Rafe turns and looks at you, but you keep your eyes on Connor. His other hand grips yours, making you smile.

“Is that okay?” Rafe asks you.

“Yep.”

You see his jaw shift out of the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t say anything. He turns back to Connor and nods his head toward the garage.

“Wanna go with me to get it?”

Connor nods, “Yes. Maybe they’ll give me a sticker.”

“Maybe,” Rafe laughs, then turns to you, “Be back soon.”

“Okay,” you reply weakly.

You step over to Josie and greet her, giving her little kisses all over her face and watching as she smiles. Connor protests by the garage door before the two boys can escape, squirming in Rafe’s arms.

“We forgot kisses,” Connor lectures his dad.

“Hurry,” Rafe tells him.

“You didn’t give kisses,” Connor reminds him.

You turn and meet Rafe’s eye, biting your lip to soothe the anxiousness you’re starting to feel. Rafe steps back into the kitchen and over to you, gently and carefully tucking his free arm around your waist.

“I’m sorry I never greeted you properly,” he mumbles to you.

You nod, your sign of forgiveness, and stand up on your tip-toes to give Rafe a kiss. He holds you against him for an extra few seconds, letting his mouth mold over yours.

“My turn,” Connor says when Rafe pulls back.

You peck him on the cheek and he does the same to you, and when you grab Connor’s hand, he squeezes.

“Don’t be long,” you tell both of them.

Rafe holds your gaze for longer than usual, then leans down and kisses your forehead. You let him, allowing your eyes to close under his affection. Although you know that conversation is far from over, it’s nice to feel his love.

You and Rafe conduct business as usual for the remainder of the evening. You all eat dinner together, and he puts Josie to bed while you bathe Connor. Afterward, he comes into Connor’s room to say goodnight, giving his son a kiss. You’d think it was just another day, but Rafe’s lack of touches and kisses has you feeling empty by the time the two of you head back downstairs. As if to avoid talking about it too soon, you go into your bathroom and take a long shower. You let the hot water sink into your skin, washing away your anxiety about arguing with Rafe. You know it’s inevitable, given how opposite you both seemed to feel earlier.

Your suspicion of him not being through with it comes when you emerge from the bathroom and find him sitting on the bed with his arms and legs crossed.

“I don’t want him in our home anymore,” he says. His voice is quiet, but you can tell by his tone that he means business.

“I already told the boys they could play together next week. After that, I’ll indulge your jealousy.”

You’re surprised at your own response, but it’s exactly what you’d been thinking all night. The last thing you want is for Connor to suffer because Rafe can’t get a hold of himself.

“Being jealous would imply there’s something to be jealous of,” he reminds you, “You’re my wife. If anyone’s jealous, it’s him.”

You shake your head and walk over to your dresser, pulling a tee shirt and shorts out of it. Rafe watches you, waiting for your rebuttal.

“There’s no reason for this, Rafe,” you sigh, “He’s a nice guy. He told me all about his past and Daniel’s mom, and I think he’s just had a hard time lately. He needs a friend.”

Rafe laughs, “Did he give you this sob story before or after he fixed the sink for you?”

“Is that what this is about? The fucking faucet?” you spin around and look at him, observing his rolling eyes.

“I’m just saying,” he holds his hands up in defense, “Guys don’t just fix things. He’s into you, Y/N.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, which makes Rafe clench his jaw even more. He sits up on the bed, telling you he’s ready to defend that comment.

“Why can’t you believe he might just be a nice person?”

“Because I’m a guy,” he responds, “I know exactly what he was thinking, sweetheart, and it wasn’t even remotely related to making your life easier.”

“You’re ridiculous, Rafe. I thought you’d appreciate that he fixed the faucet, considering he just saved you the cost of having to call someone out here.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t need Nico’s help taking care of my home. Or my wife. Or my fucking kids.”

“Oh, so this is an ego thing, then,” you decide.

“No–”

“Let me ask you something,” you stop him, “What do you think could possibly happen? Even if, God forbid, he is into me, are you somehow under the impression that I’d run off into the sunset with him? That I’d… leave you?”

He winces, and so do you. Even just imagining that happening is enough for you to feel a pit in your stomach. You can feel your eyes welling up, but you shove the emotions down. You really don’t want to cry over this, over some stupid fight you shouldn’t be having in the first place.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” he admits quietly.

You turn again so your back is to him and remove your towel from your shower, tossing the shirt over your head and pulling the shorts on. Rafe is standing when you look back at him, his expression tough.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not going to let our son’s new friendship suffer because you can’t get a grip.”

You watch his throat work, swallowing down your harsh words.

“Well, I don’t want you to be alone with some guy who’s sitting around thinking about all the different ways he could fuck you,” he shoots back.

You laugh sarcastically at that, unable to contain your normal tone any longer.

“He doesn’t get to, Rafe!” you remind him, “You do. Actually, you don’t. Not tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Sweetheart, stop. This is getting out of hand–”

“Yes, it is,” you answer him, “You’re acting like we’re still seventeen. I am an adult and I can handle myself. I don’t need you to save me all the time.”

“Fuck that, I know you can,” he raises his voice, crossing to your side of the bed to stop you from grabbing your pillow and leaving, “But you’re not listening to me. If he makes an advance and I’m not here to help you–”

“Oh, my God,” you groan, “Nico is a friend. That is it. The same way Kelce is my friend–”

“Kelce wanted to fuck you for years,” he reminds you.

“Topper,” you fire back.

“Wanted to fuck you when we were sixteen.”

“No he didn’t!” you protest.

“Yes, he did,” Rafe replies, “He told me.”

“Well, whatever,” you wave him off, “That’s when we were kids. Nico is an adult, and so are we–”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cuts you off, “Your dick doesn’t stop getting hard just because you turn twenty-five.”

You sigh and pick up your pillow, ready to make a break for the couch. He steps to the side, blocking your exit.

“I don’t want to do this with you, Rafe,” you exhale, “You’re being immature.”

He frowns, “You’re being naive.”

You purse your lips and step toward him, ready to pass. He reaches his arms up instinctually and stops you, urging you to look at him.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” you repeat.

“No, baby. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You just nod, letting him lean over you to get his pillow from his side of the bed. He grips it tightly in his hand, then steps back, taking you in.

“Goodnight,” you mumble.

He watches as you turn back to the bed, placing your pillow down and pulling back the comforter. You can feel him still standing there, but you’re too chicken to turn around and face him.

“You’re gonna make me sleep on the couch and not say it?” he questions. You can hear the tiniest bit of teasing in his voice, and you have to wiggle your jaw to stop a smile from forming.

You inhale sharply, then turn halfway and steal a glance. Your eyes meet the floor before you speak.

“I love you,” you say quietly.

He steps forward, “You better. Kiss.”

You turn your head and peck his lips, and despite his sigh of disapproval, he accepts it. When you turn back to the bed again, you feel him start to exit.

He stops right at the threshold, just as you shift to look at him.

“I love you, too,” he tells you, “We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod and watch him escape, crawling into the bed and turning off the lamp afterwards. You do your best not to think about the argument, or the fact that he’s not in here with you, even though you practically forced him out. Instead, you try to put it all out of your mind and go to sleep, which comes easier than you thought it would.

You wake in the middle of the night on your side, your back pressed into Rafe’s warm chest. You turn and find him asleep, wrapped around you, both of his arms holding your own. You have no idea how long he’s been holding you like this, but it makes you instantly choke up.

“Rafe,” you whisper, nudging him, “Rafe.”

“Hmm?” he hums sleepily, keeping his eyes glued shut.

“I thought you were on the couch.”

Even though it’s dark, you swear you can see his lips tip up. You purse your lips to hide a smirk, thankful he’s keeping his eyes closed.

“Bad dream,” he lies, and it’s obvious, “You complaining?”

You take a deep breath, “No.”

He smiles then, tucking you even closer to him and inhaling your sweet shampoo.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We can fight in the morning.”

You obey his raspy voice and relax in his arms, a part of you thankful to feel him. Although you dread the conversations to come in the morning, afternoon, and evening tomorrow, you’re at least glad that it’s him you get to do it with.

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@witchwyfe @lurkymurker @ghostselena @goldenjo @storytellingwitht @scenesofobx @itsalexwin @onmykneesforrafe @valeriiecameron @lovedetlost @mardema @girlsneedloovee @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess @malums-trash-can @emotionalbruv @parkerreidnorth @rafecameronswhore @wanniiieeee @sarahwasfound @lilgoddesshines @abrunettefangirlnerd @absolute-fcking-chaos @jordynsharum @premixed-margarita @anonymousobxfan @samcaniglia @thisisthewayrose @iammirrorball @r0und3bitch @thesimpletype @notdisneychannel @gillybear17 @solllaris @i-is-for-inspiring @sksliz @maybankxw @mattyskies @booktalks @zdrewrrys @elizabethrosecresswell @lienoec

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe x y/n #rafe x reader #outer banks netflix #outerbanks #outerbanks netflix #outer banks

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dadbastiandisaster · 1 year

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Fuck it

🕸️🕷️✨Claude headcanons✨🕷️🕸️

Yes i know his characterisation is utter shit and yes i am taking a marie kondo approach to the s2 canon

Sebastian had at least been around humans before his contract, so he at least had a passing idea of how to Human. Claude had not. Only interacted with humans ever if murder counts.

He’s actually short-sighted (someone on a wattpad book Black Butler Headcanons I can’t find for the life of me because wattpad utterly fucked up their search system suggested this was because his true form has eight eyes and I love it. I think the person who wrote it was called something like ‘The King Fisher’, so if that sounds familiar, say and I’ll tag you)

He has very little concept of social norms. Alois will be like ‘men are supposed to wear trousers and women are supposed to wear skirts >:(‘ and claude will be like

They’re both coming at the ‘gender is bullshit’ thing from two very different places

Sebastian is over-achieving as far as Claude’s concerned. He’s got three other Demons working for him and he’s going to make the most of it, there is no benefit from doing more than he has to.

He has mixed feeling about Alois. On the one hand he does know that Alois’ situation is not great and has even grown somewhat fond of him (platonically i swear to fuck some people in this fandom) but on the other there are few people on the planet less equipped to help than him.

Jokes aside, I imagine it’s a he/they/it situation, but it’s the Victorian era so Alois was like ‘well you’re probably not a woman so unfortunately that leaves you with one other option’ and Claude was like ‘that’s fine, how long could these contract things last anyway?’

His life pre-contract was basically just surviving in Hell, which has left him with extensive knowledge of nature and no sense of identity

Hates people, loves animals!

Took the contract more out of curiosity than anything else. He fucked around and found out!

Most of Alois and his contract is ‘if you have no idea what you’re supposed to be doing and I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing who’s driving this ship?’

The answer is Hannah obviously

My interpretation of the Hannah-Claude situation is that Claude (somehow) knows that Hannah killed Alois’ brother and that chasing after Sebastian is totally pointless, but if he tells Alois, Hannah will kill him (I hc Hannah as a very old, very powerful Demon). Hannah obviously doesn’t want Alois to find out the truth, so she has to sabotage quite a lot of Alois’ plans (which Claude has to carry out, so it makes his life a lot harder, which is Not A Vibe as far as Claude’s concerned)

Plus Hannah is like ‘actually you’re doing a shit job with Alois’ (true) ‘and if I had this contract instead of you he would be fine’ (not true)

Sort of mid-level Demon. Like he’s in pretty good health (aside from the crappy eyesight) but he’s not especially skilled in combat. He’s just sort of meh.

He likes knitting, crocheting, sewing, lace-making etc because it’s similar to web-building and he finds it relaxing

Sebastian fucking hates him after the Ciel kidnapping incident but the hatred is entirely one-sided. Claude does not give a singular shit about Sebastian, just thinks he’s (as the kids say) a bit of a try-hard

Knows for a Fact that Alois is a lot smarter than he lets on. Doesn’t rat him out on it though, he doesn’t get paid extra to be a snitch, and he’d probably do the same if the situation allowed

I’m torn between ‘totally non-judgemental’ and ‘is a massive bitch’, so I think it’s both. Totally non-judgemental is he’s ambivalent to/likes you, if he dislikes you he is judging you on everything you do right down to how you butter your toast and will chat shit behind your back

Even he didn’t like the previous Earl Trancy

Really not a fan of physical affection

I think if he and Aunt Frances met, it would be a case of unstoppable force (Aunt Frances knowing that Claude is doing 10000 things wrong and cutting so many corners he now has a circle) vs immovable object (Claude doesn’t care). The Sebastian - Aunt Frances dynamic heavily relies on Sebastian caring about her opinion and Claude simply does not have that problem.

Unlike Sebastian, he sometimes sleeps.

I don’t think he’s aro/ace he’s just never really had much of a chance to explore any of that,

Anyway, I will stop for now, this is already very long. I might make ones for Hannah and the Triplets because I will simply never stop talking about the kuro demons

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #claude faustus #black butler 2 #black butler season 2 #black butler headcanons #headcanons #i have such a specific characterisation of claude in my head #and it bugs me far more than i should when i see people with other ones #like i don’t actually think im right but also im the only person who can write claude correctly #and everyone else should check with me before posting any claude Faustus content #hes a nerd hes a freak he likes knitting hes judging you for what order you eat the food on your plate #using he/him bc thats what the show uses #original post

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whinlatter · 9 months

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Hi, You mentioned you liked the Tent scene in the DH movie which is very rare for Romione fans and book fans… and so I’m curious if there’s other things you like from the films? I would love to know

me fighting for my life in hinny/romione jail after saying i really like the tent scene

Ok just in defence of the tent scene, which I love for so many reasons in a film series I broadly feel ambivalent about... I love that how plays with the idea of the characters just being kids getting a moment to piss about in a tent with the radio on, while the war rages around them (the song is O Children for a reason, and the fact that the train imagery runs throughout the lyrics... chef's kiss). I think it's a thoughtful twist on that line from DH about them being "three teenagers in a tent whose only achievement was not, yet, to be dead", playing with the teenageness of it all. I also really like how it steps out of being a HP film and plays both with a change of pace but also different forms of media - like, if you're converting something from one form to another (in this case, from a book to a film), you can and should think about what you can do in movies that you can't do in books, and music is so important in that. And I actually really love at the end where movie!Harry and Hermione look at each other and something seems to hang in the balance - I think it works as a bit of a wink and a nod to the audience expectations, but I love that they both turn away from it, because to the two characters there’s nothing of that between them, just deep love and ease with another person that they treasure and are grateful for. And then the song ends, and it’s back to the worry, three minutes of forgetting and back to the hours and hours of waiting and worrying. And although I don't really think of the movie characters as the characters, I do think it works as a way to render a dynamic in book!Harry and Hermione’s relationship by DH, which does have this intimacy, tenderness, and these gorgeous little twinge moments of physical affection:

She hesitated, but recognised the dismissal. She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared.

Overall, though, I really don't love the films. I absolutely enjoy rewatching them with friends as a nostalgic relic of my childhood, yes I will re-enact the PS/SS chess scene on request, but I don't think as a series they're very strong, either as an adaptation or as a standalone body of work. My favourite film is probably GoF, because I think it just gets the vibe right: it nails the series shift that happens in book four, in that it delivers boarding school caper vibes immaculately, but then also really nails the political/courtroom scenes (the Barty Crouch Jr trial scene holds up as iconic, oh my god!) and the truly terrifying graveyard scene and the tragedy/agony of the aftermath. But in general I don't think the films are hugely well done, and I think giving David Yates films five through eight was a huge mistake (the man just turns the lights down to show that everything is getting dark and miserable, and directs weak, mannered performances from his actors in scenes that are poorly cut and edited. I will die on this hill). If JKR weren't set to make bank that she's going to pump into toxic TERF lobbying in Scottish/UK politics I'd be excited for the HBO series. Since the films were made we've seen how long-form series television can really be a wonderful medium for delivering quality adaptations and is where some of the most exciting new IP has been coming out of for the past few years, so there's such rich creative energy in that space that could deliver a really quality adaptation. But she is... so I am not!

Other things I like from the films that aren't in the books, after a lot of thought lol:

Burning the Burrow scene — it happened in the wrong film (the Burrow probably was attacked during DH, after Ron is revealed to be travelling with Harry at Malfoy Manor), but I think it’s extremely atmospheric, really chilling and beautiful (the reeds! the water! obsessed) Also it’s basically the best/most bearable Hinny moment in the wasteland of film Hinny........ but I digress

The crackling radio scenes from DH 1 (borrowed these heavily for inspo for Beasts, I love them so much)

#justice for the tent scene #justice for the burrow burning scene #and injustice for everything else #thank you anon!#also thank you so much if you have sent me an ask this week #i have an irl deadline early next week so am behind on writing and replying but i promise to try and get to the asks as soon as i can!

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earlgreytea68 · 1 year

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Coming Soon: Some Swan Song Books You Can Actually Buy!

A while ago, I stood at a crossroads with writing. I had gotten rid of my agent, who I was pretty sure didn’t really understand the stuff I wanted to work on, and also found myself out of contract with previous publishers. I spent the past few years just really enjoying myself, writing whatever I wanted, not worrying about what would and wouldn’t sell, what I could and couldn’t pitch. I just...wrote. I love writing, it is my absolute favorite thing to do with my time, and I just wrote and wrote and wrote a lot of words I loved a lot, and I shared them all with all of you.

But then eventually, after a while of doing this, I began to have this little itch inside of me. I would (sometimes) read the books of others, and (sometimes) watch a movie or television show, and I would think, “...I could have done this better.” (Or, sometimes, “I *have* done this better.”) In the time that I spent just enjoying my hobby, the market shifted to be more open and welcoming to ficcy properties -- the types of story I kept pitching to my agent that she kept saying the market wouldn’t know what to do with.

So I thought: Maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s time to try again with the whole publishing thing. Like, I hadn’t been thrilled with any of my publication experiences before but maybe the market had shifted to be more amenable to the type of stuff I write. Maybe I would feel less twisted-around now than I did last time. So I started jotting down agents who seemed to represent authors who wrote stories the way I did, who might be a better fit for me than my original agent was, and I got to thinking about starting the whole process again, and then I thought, “...Why am I doing this?” lol

I wrote a little bit about this earlier, about debating whether to find an agent or just self-publish, and I decided at the time to give both a try, but then later I changed my mind again. I just didn’t have a whole lot of interest in doing something I’d already done, which was the traditional publishing route. The more I thought about it, the more I dreaded it. The more I thought about letting someone else into my stories again, letting them thrash around in there to make them more like something else, the less and less I wanted to undertake the effort. It’s a lot of work to find an agent; why would I do it if I was ambivalent about what the result would be? I kept thinking of that Pete Wentz lyric: I became such a strange shape, trying to fit in. Publication messed with me. It messed with my relationship with writing. It messed with the stories I wanted to tell. It messed with my creativity and enthusiasm and process. I’m many years older than I was and the “reward” of publication just didn’t seem worth it to me anymore.

So I thought again: Now we live in a world where you can easily self-publish. This world didn’t exist even ten years ago when I was first getting my agent, etc. Why am I trying to do things in this old-fashioned way I know I don’t like, when I could just publish things myself? Like, yes, now I have to teach myself publishing, so this is a lot, but I’m untangling it!

Which brings me to my announcement! I’ve been working behind the scenes for months now, EDITING. If you know me at all you know I NEVER WILLINGLY EDIT. But I’ve been doing it! I sat down with Swan Song and chopped it up into five novellas (it was too long for one novel, and the novella thing works well for self-publishing, or so I’ve been told Idk). I started editing them, a part of the process I always dreaded, and you know what? It turns out I really like editing when I think it’s genuinely making the story better! Who knew! I have had a blast editing this story! I actually think it’s much better than it was in fic form! I’ve added tens of thousands of words and you’re probably sitting there like, “Did Swan Song need to be longer?” and the answer is YES, IT TURNS OUT IT DID. (Editing, incidentally, was what I was supposed to be doing while I was posting “I Prefer Our Love,” and I did! I really did! And then I got bored and started writing “Next Christmas,” so just in case you thought I was going to turn into a dedicated editor, I suspect not lololol)

So! There are going to be Swan Song novellas! Five of them! In ebook and physical format! My plan right now is the first one will go on sale on February 14 (just in time for Valentine’s Day!). I’m hoping to get it up for pre-sales on February 1. And then, hopefully, there will be a new novella each month after that, until I run out of them. The pen name is Ainsley North and she has a Tumblr, if you’re so inclined to follow for waaaay more updates on all of this. And, in the meantime, if you read the original Swan Song as it was posted on AO3 (where it’s staying, incidentally) and want to provide some kind of blurb I can use in marketing, lmk!

#swan song #ainsley north #PUBLISHING!

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coloricioso · 1 year

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Hello, I was wondering why do you ship Agamemnon & Cassandra?

Hi! Before the long reply, I would like to make sure that, in no way I’m forgetting the fictional-historical context and “shipping them because they cute UwU and everything is okay”. I know that my art captions and some comics in my blog are kind of silly sometimes, but my written novels are very serious, and I address all the problematic topics. Especially because I consider myself a feminist, and as a lawyer too, I’m very concerned about women’s rights. So, I'm not erasing Cassandra’s suffering and making a retelling where everything is sweet and fine. I also answered a bit about this in this ask.

There is an ongoing comic in my blog called “La última flor del almendro temprano” which is a quick summary of the novel I'm writing. In the story, Cassandra complains about her slavery, war, and her tragic fate, while being ambivalent toward the kind treatment she receives from Agamemnon. She also wonders if her feelings are fine or censurable (for treason against her family and country).

So, I really want this to be clear. I’m creating a story that is romantic, yes, but there is also conflict, criticism, and awareness of war, slavery, and women's inequality in ancient times.

I divided this "essay" into the following parts::

Historical-cultural context: Cassandra as a priestess, the role of priestesses in ancient society, and the role of concubines.

Agamemnon’s feelings towards Cassandra: are love, compassion, devotion, and tenderness.

Cassandra’s feelings towards Agamemnon: are ambivalence, revenge, loyalty, fondness, and love.

My own version and Personal Thoughts: these are two tragic characters united by their bravery, compassion, and kindness. They share their awareness of the pathos of life and empathy toward humanity’s fragility. And they also grow to romantically love each other despite their circumstances.

CONTEXT: There are some things to keep in mind regarding the ancient historical context. Priestesses were, probably, the most important women of ancient Greek society, maybe having similar or higher status than queens and princesses. Priestesses could earn a salary, received gifts and commemorative awards, owned their own land and property -this depending on culture-, they were able to read and write, etc.

So, as I see it, in Mycenaean-Trojan times, Cassandra must have been a woman with a high status, not only because she was a princess, but because she was a priestess. So, that makes her a different woman for her time. Even when she became a slave, she would have been treated kindly according to her former statuses (free woman, priestess, and princess). This can be seen in Euripides’ Hecuba and Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, since Agamemnon treats her well, asks others to treat her kindly, says he is compassionate about her fate, and says that slavery is something difficult or unwanted to bear ("no one freely takes the yoke of slavery" Aeschylus, Agamemnon 950).

There are some things that are interesting as well. In Aeschylus' Agamemnon, when Cassandra arrives Mycenae, she is still wearing her priestess outfit. I find this highly curious, because it could mean that she was still allowed to be a priestess while being Agamemnon's concubine. Ancient priestesses were not asked to be virgins their whole lives, they could be married, have children, etc. So, maybe Agamemnon allowed Cassandra to keep being a priestess of Apollo, respecting her religious status (although Poseidon complains in Trojan Women that Agamemnon’s has forced Cassandra into a “dishonored wedlock” that “respects no religion” probably meaning that Cassandra could not have sex because it was forbidden; but this is Euripides take).

Aside from the Chryseis-incident in the Iliad, or in Sophocles’ Ajax where Agamemnon refuses to bury Ajax’ body, Agamemnon was usually portrayed as a pious man, so I think that, religiously speaking, he would have accepted or at least respected Cassandra’s status as a priestess. Remember that Agamemnon is the one who condemns how the Greeks dishonored the Trojan’s temples and altars, he is the one who stays in Troy to try to make amends with the gods, he wants to punish Ajax’s treatment of Cassandra (when he dragged her out of the temple). So, in general speaking, he is portrayed as someone who respects the gods and religion.

Going back to Cassandra, in Aeschylus’ play she arrives in the same chariot together with Agamemnon (some discuss that she was in a separate chariot, but she was still visible enough to be distinguished from everyone else). This means Cassandra is anything but a common slave. Even Agamemnon's addressing of her is complicated because he says she suffers the “yoke of slavery", but he asks that she must be treated kindly, and says that she is a special flower. So, she is not a common slave, and from all slaves, she is the only one who receives a special treatment. Also, in Euripides Hecuba, Talthibius (Agamemnon’s messenger) says that Cassandra is “not a slave” but “a wife”, so, again, she is not a common slave.

And, depending on the author, Clytemnestra's main or sole reason to kill Agamemnon it's his "adultery" with Cassandra. Depending on the version, Clytemnestra’s jealousy has a bigger role rather than avenging Iphigenia's death. Clytemnestra is quite fixated with sexual status of Cassandra because she speaks of Cassandra as “Agamenon’s whore” and insults Cassandra saying she is the “slut of the sailors’ benches” (or also translated as: “how many sailors’ benches she must have lain on”). Also, once Cassandra and Agamemnon are dead, Clytemnestra keeps speaking of them with words that are used for a couple of lovers or husband-wife. Now, we know from other plays (like Hermione’s treatment of Andromache) that legitimate wives feared concubines and were hostile to them, because they could steal their husband’s attention or love. In the case of Andromache, we are sure that she is not a willing part, because she says she is not. But I find it interesting that Cassandra, being so eloquent and sincere (since she speaks with the truth), does never deny she is Agamemnon’s “wife” or “bride”. And in Euripides plays, she speaks of herself and Agamemnon using wedding and marriage terminology and narrative.

Also, Cassandra never complains on being treated poorly by Agamemnon and this seems very important to me.

Another thing is that the legal status of concubines is complex. A concubine could be something like a “slave-wife”, but apparently it didn’t immediately translate into having it worse than a “legitimate wife”. If we think of the ancient Trojan culture or cultures were men had concubines, they were more important than common women because they were the “richness” of an important man. Even king Priam has his concubines, so, I think it’s important to remember the historical context for this scenario. We even have tales of concubines fighting each other for the man’s attention or wanting to become “first wife”, so…. It’s a very different cultural context from what we can understand with our modern way of living. Regardless the discussions of consent and sex (*we could remember that legitimate wives were not asked to consent either) it’s clear that, when concubines belonged to rich and socially important men, they were fairly treated (having access to good food, clothes, jewelry, etc.).

Anyway, these “historical context” things make me believe that Cassandra had a higher social status, regardless of her slavery, and therefore, she was treated kindly.

ON AGAMEMNON's FEELINGS: Well, it's "canon" that in ancient Greek works, Agamemnon is in love with Cassandra. Depending on the version it can be subtle or stronger, but the love is always there.

So, just like Chryseis, Cassandra was not “a random woman” to Agamemnon but a very precious one, to the point he says he prefers her over his legitimate wife (Iliad, I). Even Hecuba (Cassandra’s mother) speaks of their relationship, and she uses Agamemnon’s love for Cassandra to negotiate and ask for help (to avenge one of her murderer sons). Agamemnon answers to her: “Hecuba, I feel compassion for you and your daughter and your ill-fortune, as well as for your suppliant gesture”.

This totally shows that Agamemnon takes no joy in Cassandra’s suffering, but that he feels compassion and empathy towards her and wants her to be alright.

This idea is repeated in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, where the king asks Clytemnestra that Cassandra must be treated well because: This foreign girl receive into the house with kindness. A god from afar looks graciously upon a gentle master; for no one freely takes the yoke of slavery (950).

In Euripides’ Hecuba, Agamemnon says that he fears helping Hecuba and make the army believe (again) that he acts moved by Cassandra’s sake against the interests of the men. This idea (of Agamemnon acting for Cassandra’s sake) is also shown in the same play when Agamemnon refuses the idea of Polyxena (Cassandra’s sister) being sacrificed and asks for her to be spared, but the army answers that “they said they never would set Cassandra's bed before Achilles' valor.” Helene Foley says that “Agamemnon’s devotion to Cassandra continues to prove embarrassing to him” and that “Clearly, his barbarian slave concubine has won from Agamemnon the affection and loyalty due a legitimate wife. Hence is not surprising that the play closes with a prophecy of his death and that of Cassandra at the hands of Clytemnestra” (page 94, Female Acts in Greek Tragedy, 2009).

Helene Foley also says that Cassandra has become like a “second Chryseis” to Agamemnon, but I think their bond is even greater. Now, speaking of Chryseis, I think it’s very relevant to remember how Agamemnon speaks of her. When he praises Chryseis, he says that she was not only beautiful, but skilled and intelligent: I would not accept the glorious ransom for the girl, the daughter of Chryses, since I much prefer to keep her in my home. For certainly I prefer her to Clytemnestra, my wedded wife, since she is not inferior to her, either in form or in stature, or in mind, or in any handwork (Iliad, I, 110). So, this makes me believe that, at least to Agamemnon, the “concubines” were not just “sex objects”, but they were more like companions, women who men could talk to and share as husband and wife. This is very notorious because Agamemnon says he prefers Chryseis over his legitimate wife. So again, he praises her intellect and her skills, so he speaks of her as a whole person and not an object. Of course, Agamemnon keeps a warfare language because he still speaks of spoils and prizes in Iliad’s Book I, and he even demands a “replacement” for Chryseis (as if a person can be replaced with another) but the whole point is that she was very meaningful and special to him.

Why do I believe Cassandra meant much more to him than Chryseis? Because in the Iliad, when Agamenon must choose between his love for Chryseis or his duty as King (protect his army) he gives up on Chryseis to save the army: “Yet even so will I give her back, if that is better; I would rather the people be safe than perish” (Iliad, I, 115). Agamemnon looks forward to protecting his men (compare this to Achilles who doesn’t care about the men dying because of his anger) and he won’t cause harm to the army because of his personal interest, but when it comes to Cassandra, things seem to be different because he is willing to plot in secret with Hecuba, moved by his love for Cassandra while knowing his army would not accept that. Twice in the same play, Agamemnon’s love for Cassandra is a public issue which threatens to undermine his authority among his own men, but he does not give up in her. And he does not give her up, even if it costs his life when arriving his home and being killed by his avenging and jealous wife.

Another thing that shows how meaningful Cassandra is to Agamemnon, is the fact that her dying voice is his last living memory; a memory that he keeps in Hades, it transcended death. There is a text by Philostratus the Elder, that is very pretty and covers this idea:

“(…) but even more striking in its pathos is the figure of Cassandra – the way Clytemnestra, her eyes crazed, her hair flying, her arm savagely raised, stands over her with the axe, and the way Cassandra herself, tenderly and in a state of inspiration, has tried to throw herself upon Agamemnon as she hurls her fillets from her and as it were casts about him the protection of her prophetic art; and as the axe is now poised above her, she turns her eyes toward it and utters so pathetic a cry that even Agamemnon, with the remnant of life that is in him, pities her, hearing her cry; for he will recount it to Odysseus in Hades in the concourse of souls. Source: https://www.theoi.com/Text/PhilostratusElder2A.html#10

CASSANDRA’S FEELINGS FOR AGAMEMNON: Now, Aeschylus’ portrayal of Cassandra, tells us that Cassandra calls herself a slave. But curiously she does not resent Agamemnon. She complains about people calling her mad (her own “friends” the Trojans), but she never complains about Agamemnon himself, and says he is her lord or master (because she is a slave). In this play, Cassandra complains about their fates and pities both, her and Agamemnon’s death.

This is a very different take from Euripides’ Trojan Women, because in Aeschylus’ play Cassandra does not rejoice in Agamemnon’s death. She never experiences joy by thinking something like “this man is my captor and I’m glad he dies”. Not at all. So, obviously, in Aeschylus’ portrayal there is not a depiction of “love” in a romantic way, but there is pity, compassion, and solidarity. And for me, this compassion is not a slave’s loyalty to their master, but it’s more emotional and spiritual.

Some scholars have commented, and I agree, that Cassandra in Aeschylus’ play is a very noble and brave character because she raises over her own fear, sadness and death, to be compassionate of Agamemnon’s fate and also the pathos of life (humanity as a whole).

Now, there is the Trojan Women Cassandra, who rejoices on being the “divine instrument” to bring death into Agamemnon’s house. But Euripides contradicts or changes his own views a lot, because you also have Hecuba play, where Hecuba speaks a lot about Agamemnon’s and Cassandra love: “How then, king, will you acknowledge those nights of rapture, or what return shall my daughter or I her mother have for the love she has lavished on her lord?”. Another translation: here wilt thou show that thy nights were nights of love, oh king, or will my daughter receive any recompense for her most fond embraces, and I through her? For from the secret shade, and from night's joys, the greatest delight is wont to spring to mortals. There is a lot of reciprocity and love concepts in this play.

Through the different plays, Cassandra is used by Apollo as a destructive-purifying instrument to punish-clean the generational miasma that flows through Agamemnon’s bloodline. Her and Agamemnon’s death are part of a chain of acts that, after the Orestes-Electra-Clytemnestra stage end, allow to purify and bring “non archaic” justice. Cassandra acknowledges that there is a religious-justice reason for hers and Agamemnon’s death, but her reaction to that, is ambiguous to say the least. Sometimes she rejoices at it, sometimes she complains, and sometimes she rebels against it.

PERSONAL THOUGHTS: This is MY PERSONAL view, which is based or sustained -partially- by the sources. I think since both Agamemnon and Cassandra had a special social status, they did respect each other. For her status and skills, Cassandra is someone Agamemnon can treat as “some kind” of equal. In ancient times, women and men were not equal, and a king and slave were not equal, indeed, but both Cassandra and Agamemnon shared tragic lives, were divine instruments, were religiously pious, and both shared certain skills.

It's obvious that Agamemnon loved Cassandra and treated her well, and I believe that probably Cassandra did reciprocate that love (therefore Hecuba’s pleads and Clytemnestra’s jealousy). Indeed, it wouldn’t have been a happy romantic adventure, but the kind of tragic love I’m portraying in my comic.

And it’s clear that Cassandra was very loyal to Agamemnon and, in many versions, wanted to protect him and died along with him.

And, also, if you check on real life examples, there are stories about slaves or concubines who fell in love with their masters or who became free women and then got married. It’s not Greek but take the Hürrem and Suleyman story as an example. In Magnificent Century we first meet an angry and vengeful Hürrem who wants to kill the sultan, yet she ultimately falls in love with him, and both reign happy together. For our modern eyes it’s a shocking thing to imagine that a slave could love a master, but that’s why we need to put ourselves in the ancient context where the way of seeing life is very different from ours.

So, in conclusion, I think it’s not that odd or unbelievable that Agamemnon and Cassandra could love each other and share some pleasant times together before dying. In my novel, Agamemnon rescues Cassandra from Ajax, when he dragged her out of Athena's temple. He loves her at first sight, but doesn't have sex with her in the beginning because he promises to Athena that he will protect Cassandra's maidenhood, in the hope that the gods will cease their anger and allow them to have a safe journey to Mycenae. Obviously, Agamemnon finds it difficult to avoid his passional and romantic feelings towards Cassandra.

Cassandra's feelings are even more complex because she knows that she is linked to Agamemnon somehow, even before she even meets him. She is curious and attracted by his name, and in deep conflict, because he is a foreign enemy. They do meet once before the war, but spoilers... And, once Troy falls, she wants to kill Agamemnon to avenge her family, but she gives up on that plan once she realizes how Agamemnon tries to protect her, how he tried to avoid Polyxena's sacrifice, and how he helped her mother.

Agamemnon and Cassandra don't go straight to Myceneae, but instead, start traveling to cities where Apollo has temples in, so they can find a way to stay alive and not die when arriving Mycenae. :P they grow a lot together while they travel, and that's a quick summary.

#long post #cassandra #agamemnon

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literary-illuminati · 1 year

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Book Review 6 – Hell Bent by Leigh Bardugo

I’m vaguely aware that Bardugo’s a fairly prolific and well-regarded author, but before reading this the only thing of hers I’d ever opened was the book it’s a sequel to. Now, I actually really adored Ninth House, but I’ve had a few people tell me it’s pretty atypical of her work, and the hanging sequel hook at the end was the worst part of it – it was a perfectly lovely self-contained story, really. So, went into this one with a decent amount of trepidation, even if there’s no chance I wasn’t going to read it.

The book absolutely does read and feel like an unneeded sequel - @wearethekat has told me that the series was all planned out ahead of time, which frankly I would not have guessed. The plot was a big disjointed and some of the final act felt like a desperate attempt to tie up loose ends more than an actual reveal. I still just absolutely and totally do not care about Darlington. But overall it was still a fun read? I don’t regret the preorder, anyway.

But yes, plot-wise the story was messy – I actually loved the whole subplot with Alex being low-rent occult muscle roughing up people who owe a drug dealer money, and I would happily have read a whole book centred around that whole mess. But having her entirely coincidentally run into a vampire whose backstory and situation just happen to be key to the reveal of the main plot itself felt – well, just made the author’s puppet strings feel a bit too obvious, I suppose?

Though the main plot itself was always kind of a hard sell for me – which is to say, I thought Darlington was way more interesting as a corpse than as a character. The golden boy hero with the glamorous but burdensome inheritance whose read all the books and knows the proper way to do everything is just a much better part of the narrative after the protagonist panics and gets him killed and is now scrambling to keep things form falling to pieces in his place, y’know? So a book whose central premise is ‘lets go to hell and get him back!’ was, well, less than inspiring. So I might be judging it too harshly – it cohered?

Much like Ninth House, my main issue with the plot is actually just the ending. As mentioned, I recently learned the book was always planned to be part of a series – it still really didn’t feel like it? The obvious setup for the plot of the next book felt like it came a bit out of nowhere at the very end of the denouncement, and frankly it seems like the setup for a fun superhero-lite monster of the week action-adventure cartoon than a dark urban fantasy novel. (Also, I would have forgiven the book a lot if it spent so much time and effort carefully laying out so much hilarious blatant bdsm subtext between Alex and Darlington – not even sub, really, there’s a fiery astral collar involved – and then not actually had a textual romance between them. But if there’s still another book in the series it’s just forward planning and thus far less funny).

Though I suppose one major reason for my lack of interest in a sequel is just that the trend of the series seems to be that the magic is getting, well, higher powered isn’t the right term, but perhaps simpler might be? Which is a shame, because the aesthetics and general vibe of the magic – distasteful and messy in its components, full of elaborate ritual and pomp and circumstance, embedded in time and space and empowered by centuries of ruthless looting and hoarding – is really one of the main appeals of the setting. To the extent that Alex and Darlington can just do magical girl transformation sequences and start glowing, it loses a lot of its charm for me.

Generally tone and mood are a strength of the book, especially when it gets away from the hellfire. Alex is a truly amazing protagonist to be stuck inside the head of, and her general ambivalence towards life at Yale – her visceral disgust at the people and the bone-deep institutional rot combined with her hunger for the privileged, comfortable life of culture and learning and beauty being able to use that rot allows – is a really great throughline to how New Haven is characterized throughout the book. Bardugo’s got a real love for all the historical trivia about Yale and a blistering contempt for the sort of people who really run it and it’s whole existence as an institution – I checked to make sure, but yeah you can absolutely tell she’s an alumnus.

I know I already said as much while complaining but – the way these books do magic is just an absolute joy, it honestly is. Really nails the middle ground between like, fun over the top ceremonial magic, and making/have to drink potions of the most random/rare/disgusting things to keep ghosts from eating you. It’s also just overall a very satisfyingly cynical take on magic, and a kind of bleak look at the whole magical boarding school genre – if there’s a secret school that monopolizes magical lore and teaches it to very special students, of course those students are going to end up secretaries of state and managing partners at big law firms and perennial pop stars. Divine mysteries and the life of the mind are all well and good, but power is power is power (it’s rather Pact-like, in that way, magic isn’t this wondrous escape from/panacea to societal oppression, just another axis it can be reflected through)

Anyways, the actual main draw of this series is the protagonist, and Galaxy Stern never ceases to be an absolute joy to read. In the alternate universe where Darlington is the protagonist and the series has an inexplicably popular tv adaptation everyone would hate her so fucking much. The book was good basically in direct proportion to how often let her be an unhinged spiky bitch with no chill and lie, cheat, steal and occasionally super justifiably murder her way to success. I love horrifically traumatized social climber/imposters, con artists, and people with incredibly overdeveloped Shakespearean senses of payback so much.

The rest of the supporting cast is also fine I guess. Very funny that in a world where the western occult tradition seems to be substantively correct and the entire plot is breaking a damned soul out of hell, Turner appears to be to the first approximation the only actual Christian in New Haven. He’s also got a really fun dynamic with Alex, in a ‘you could make a really weird buddy cop police procedural’ out of this kind of way. Trip is decent comic relief and Dawes, Mercy, etc all fill their narrative purposes.

So yeah in conclusion read Ninth House (...check the content warnings first, maybe), and also the sequel’s needless but pretty decent too.

#book review #Hell Bent #leigh bardugo #sff #ninth house

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ladysternchen · 3 months

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Headcanon explained/character study- Elu Thingol, part 5

Fine. So I’ve written myself into a corner with a project that I was once really really excited about- these headcanons. This is getting too much of a fic. It’s waffling. Like my current WIP is. Yay. But writers need to have their bad (really bad) phases, too, don’t they? But I’m still going to try for a bit more momentum in here.

Now, I know that many people picture the meeting of Elwë and Melian as a bit of a ‘nick-the-elf’-move by Melian, something that she intended, an enchantment she placed upon him (the darker headcanons go towards making him her puppet after that encounter).

I disagree to that. There is this one passage in the Silmarillion saying that they were hidden by an ‘enchantments of their own making’. Their own making. Their, not her. Now, I’m not saying Elwë had powers to match Melian’s, but I still think that something happened there to both of them, not only to Elwë.

They are the only couple of that kind, and so it’s hardly surprising that also their getting-to-know-each-other is somewhat unique. And they would certainly have got to know each other thoroughly while standing in that trance for two hundred years. More, even. They would likely go beyond getting to know each other, they would have got to feeling each other, and to become part of the other, of their past experiences, of their reasoning behind decisions, of their very essence. It was not Melian who somehow changed Elwë to her liking, (opposed to popular fandom opinion) but his becoming so very entangled in an Ainu’s self. He ‘appeared as he were a lord of the Maiar’ afterwards, after all. Now, Tolkien does not tell us what that means exactly, but I imagine those changes to be more internal than external.

Melian, on the other hand, learned the ways of the Children from an internal point of view. She experienced it, and so could make herself a being that could easily be mistaken as an elf, and would ever after remain an elf of sorts.

They both became beings in between- Melian the Maia, yet also elf. Elwë the elf, yet touched so much by a Maia that he almost, almost became one himself. They both never again fitted into their people afterward, and I picture Elwë to be all too aware of this- he was one of the ambassadors, but had still not returned to Aman. He was lord of Moriquendi, yet was himself an elf of the light- though he would not fit among them, either. He was not elf, but most certainly no Maia. That made him unique, but also very vulnerable, fragile, one might say, a spirit in between the worlds.

That ‘in-between’ accompanies his actions and his very being throughout times- he was Finwë’s dearest friend, and yet quite hostile to his sons and grandsons. He was lord of all Beleriand, yet the one least able to move freely within his realm, being confined instead to Doriath (not by Melian’s doings, but because she needed him so she could hold the Girdle, and he could not step outside it without risking to tear it asunder). He disliked Men, but nonetheless accepted Beren as his son-in-law whole-heartedly once he had proven himself. He almost succumbed to his grief when Lúthien first died, and yet later chose to foster Túrin, and love him as a son. That is bordering on deliberate self-harm, considering that he knew that he would lose Túrin to the same fate as Lúthien. He was the only one of the elven lords of the First Age who remained undefeated by Morgoth, and yet died such a mundane, self-induced death. Tolkien himself calls him the mightiest among the Eldar safe Fëanor, and yet we never see him display his strength.

(Funnily enough, this very ambivalent air stays with him also in his perception within fandom- he is about as close to the POV character the Silmarillion gets, and yet hardly anyone actually identifies with him- quite the opposite. Who has read the Silmarillion and not at least once rolled their eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘oh, not you again?!’?

And yet his legacy within the legendarium stands firmly, even many many millennia after his death- be it as Aragorn repeats -presumably unknowingly- the words of his forefather “I can choose but for myself, and all my people shall do likewise!”, or when Elrond chooses to follow in Elwë’s footsteps rather than Turgon’s, or really when Elrond sets Aragorn just as seemingly unachievable a task as Elu Thingol set Beren)

To headcanon-storytelling, though:

When Melian and Elwë came out of their trance, they knew each other better than any other elf would know their spouse. They became almost one. And yes, if read from a modern view, this sounds incredibly toxic, but we cannot read the love of Elves, and even less that of the Ainur, like human love. Those relationships are meant for eternity, though some of them go through long periods of separation. Others however do always stay close to each other, so there’s nothing wrong with Elwë and Melian being clingy. (Sorry, I’m aware I’m still not headcanon-storytelling, but I HAD to make that point.)

Elwë understood, when he woke from the trance, what had happened. He knew instantly that everything was changed, that he had abandoned his people, even if it was unintended. He did not know what to hope for, that all his family and friends had left without him or that they had lingered.

He was totally overwhelmed to find that so many had forsaken Valinor for his sake, but also felt incredibly guilty, especially where Nowë/Círdan was concerned. (He did overcome that eventually, at least mostly). Melian felt the same, and together they made a promise to their people- that they would guard and guide them to the best of their ability. They may have robbed them of the chance to go on to Valinor, but they would do their best to make sure they did not miss out on anything.

The first year after their return was tough. Much had changed during their unintended honeymoon, language being only one example. Another was that Elmo was now a father, and Elwë needed a while to wrap his head around that fact. But most of all, Elwë himself had changed, and he felt those changes heavily. The most irksome of these changes were his vastly sharpened senses that made sensory overload not only common but painful, and the fact that he had to re-learn how to eat (and THAT was in truth something he never fully managed, but hid well enough). Not that he had ever been fond of eating, but after the journey, where he had lived off lembas, and his trance in Nan Elmoth where magic had kept him alive, he struggled more than ever.

But there were more important changes to his person. Time would no longer pass for him, not just very slowly (or rapidly, depending on the situation) as it did to Elves in general, but not at all. Seasons would wash over him like they did over Arda- to him, that was no more than breathing in and out.

(Yes yes yes, I AM proud that I finally explained to myself Tolkien’s cryptic “In Beleriand King Thingol upon his throne was as the lords of the Maiar, whose power is at rest, whose joy is as an air that they breathe in all their days, whose thought flows in a tide untroubled from the heights to the deeps.”)

All that came at a heavy cost. Unable to forget anything, unable to arm himself against stimuli (as mentioned before), he would get overwhelmed easily, especially when under pressure. During that first year, Melian, Elmo or Círdan would regularly find him shaking and curled up as much as possible, desperately trying to shield himself. It got better, though, as he got used to this new way of life, and by the time Elwë, Elu now, and Melian were crowned King and Queen and their realm of Eglador established, he had learned to manage life. More or less.

(Author’s notes: Ha ha ha ha… speeding things up. LOL. No, not happening apparently)

#silmarillion headcanon #headcanon explained #elu thingol #elwë singollo #melian #nan elmoth #character study #what actually happened with them internally #changes

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sugar--bee · 1 year

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The Dragon in the Mountain

CHAPTER FIVE

Malleus x GN! Reader [Warnings: Crowley Slander]

~AO3 Link~

Working for Night Raven College, MC made several trips through the mountains to deliver letters and packages for the school. Finding themself alone, caught in a blizzard with hardly any strength left, they were certain it was the end. That is until…

(Chapter One)

The trip down the mountain was easy. Malleus was able to ward the rain from the two of them. As they walked he answered their endless questions. His name was Malleus Draconia. Malleus was a dragon AND a fae. The curse was from another mage they hadn’t heard of. Malleus was the fifth most powerful mage in the world. He’d been away from his home for about sixteen years. They asked about his age, but he just chuckled. They only stopped with their questions as they came to the gate of the school late into the night.

Night Raven College was the same as it always was, though watching the rain from inside a bubble gave it more of a surreal aspect. The hour was close to midnight as they walked down the main road and to the castle. Idly they talked about some of the lore of the campus. They’d given tours too much to stop themself from reciting at least parts of their script. Malleus was silent, either listening or ambivalent as they carried on into the castle.

“You know you don’t have to escort me all this way,” they chuckled. They weren’t supposed to bring visitors into the castle without permission, but no one was around at the late hour anyways.

“I would like to.” Malleus offered, though his tone was a bit more severe than it had been on the walk. MC shrugged it off, coming to Crowley’s office.

“Just give me a moment to drop off my delivery,” They offered, excusing themself. Malleus nodded and they knocked on Crowley’s door. Hearing their name called, they entered.

Crowley scowled at them, “Finally you show up! I’ve been waiting all day for you. This is very unprofessional.”

MC sighed, “Ah… I know, I’m sorry.” Pulling out the packages and letters from their bag, they set it on his desk, “I made it back before midnight though!” They pointed out, hopeful.

“Before midnight?!” Crowley spat, “You kept me here until midnight— and look at you! You’re not wet! You changed your clothes, dried your hair, all before coming to me. It’s disrespectful!”

MC gaped, “No— I came here first, really I…” They trailed off, uncertain how to explain themself.

Crowley’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging open. He nearly fell to the ground with how fast he took a knee, his head bowed low, his palms flat on the ground. MC took a few steps back, confused as Crowley nearly shouted, “P-Prince Draconia!”

MC turned their head to Malleus, who stood in the doorway. He drew forward gracefully, a look of disgust on his face.

“You’re the holder of their contact?” He asked, his voice latent with venom.

Crowley’s head shot up, a clear panic on his face. He looked like he was trying to smile, but was failing miserably, “Yes… your highness.”

Malleus sneared, clicking his tongue dismissively. Without looking, he pulled his brooch from his lapel, “I’ll pay their release.” He stated.

Both MC and Crowley stared at the brooch, eyes wide. It was gold, ornate, with a gem the size of wine cork. They both knew it was overkill, worth far far more than their contract.

“Ah— of course! That… that will cover the remainder of their contract!” Crowley announced, staring up the gem. Malleus was about to discard the brooch, but before it could leave his hand, MC stopped him.

“Wait— he’s said he was researching how to get my memories back…” MC pointed out, looking down at the Headmage.

Crowley didn’t look away from the brooch, “Oh, it's a lost cause.” He answered quickly.

“What?!” MC frowned, “You said you were still looking–”

“Yes, well,” Crowley cut them off, looking at them briefly, clearly frustrated they were stalling the payment, “I just thought you’d have a little more motivation if you didn’t know.”

MC could only stare, eyes wide and lost as they took in the information.

“What do you mean by a lost cause?”

Crowley’s gaze snapped back to Malleus, the frustration on his face quickly replaced with the same half grin as before, “Ah— well… whatever happened to them there’s no trace of magic left— if it ever was magic at all! So there’s no spell to be undone and mind magic to try and fix it… well I’m certain someone as knowledgeable and astute as yourself knows how dangerous it is.”

Malleus sighed, dropping the brooch lazily. Crowley lunged towards it. Quickly snatching it from the floor, Crowley inspected it closely, murmuring under his breath about the quality and the craftsmanship.

A hand fell onto MC’s shoulder and they looked up to Malleus. Biting their lip they forced themself quiet, unsure if they were going to sob or scream if they spoke. Shaking their head they lowered their gaze, their arms tight across their chest. Stuck in place, in the racing mix of emotions they just stared at the office carpet.

“Come, there’s no reason to dwell here.” Malleus hummed. MC nodded, turning to follow him out.

“Wait— MC!” Crowley huffed, standing, and coming towards them quickly, grabbing their arm, “You know— I had your best intentions in mind! I am so kind after all, and we are such close friends, are we not? I took you in when you needed someone the most, you’ll remember that won’t you?”

MC furrowed their brow looking back at Crowley, “Yeah, I’ll remember that.” They huffed, pulling their arm from his grip. They didn’t have the energy to list every ridiculous, mind numbing, dangerous or inappropriate job they’d be sure to remember. Though by the dawning look of regret, they were certain Crowley understood the subtext.

The Ramshackle dorm was just as they had left it. MC briefly introduced Malleus to the ghosts of the house while they packed their few personal items. It was quick work really. Slinging the bag over their back, they sighed and stepped out of the only place they remembered. Malleus wasn’t far behind.

“This building really is quite charming.” He hummed, admiring the dilapidated dorm.

MC chuckled, “I think you’re one of the only people who’ve said that… but yeah. I’ll miss it.”

He nodded as MC waved one final time to the ghosts in the window. One looked close to crying if he still could. They started down the path.

“I guess I gotta find somewhere to go…” MC hummed, thinking back. They’d been close with some of the previous graduates around their age, but where they were now was a tough question to answer. Furthermore it’d be kind of a lot to ask an old friend to move in with them for a bit.

Malleus pulled them from their thoughts, “I would be more than happy to host you.”

MC looked up at him, the idea playing out in their head for a moment as they weighed the pros and cons.

“You know, you didn’t tell me you were a prince.” They pointed out.

Malleus grinned, “You hadn’t asked me.”

MC shook their head and sighed, taking a moment to think. They had enough money saved up to buy a hotel and could likely find a job in town if they so choose to. They had friends who they knew would help if they reached out. But… looking back up to Malleus, they couldn’t help but feel drawn. Curious maybe. And on top of that… they did like him. They didn’t know much about Briar Valley, but they could learn.

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that.” They agreed.

Malleus stepped in front of them and turned to face MC. He offered his hand and for a moment MC stared, a bit confused before gently placing their hand in his.

“It’s a bit of an odd sensation. I’ve been told it helps if you close your eyes.” Malleus hummed. They were going to ask what he meant, but as they blinked, they felt as if a wave had pulled them under. It was quick, cold, weightless and heavy all in the span of a second before it was over. Their knees buckled under them, but before they could fall Malleus caught their arm and held them steady.

Blinking a few times to clear their vision, they stared at the intricate marble flooring. The walls around them were gothic, lit by green fire. They found their footing and looked about at the tall looming architecture.

“It sort of looks like your place.” They chuckled.

He nodded, “I suppose I took some inspiration.”

Echoing footfall carried down the hall, a pair of heels clacking as they drew closer, rounding the corner. The same short man they had seen before slid to a halt, staring at Malleus, his eyes like saucers. His gaze fell to them as well, red eyes blown wide in surprise.

“You’re back…” Lilia finally managed, taking a few slow steps further as if in total disbelief. He closed the gap quickly after, floating high enough to be face to face with Malleus. Lilia wrapped his arms around him, “You’re really back!”

“Yes, it seems so,” he agreed, his blasé tone in contrast with how tightly he was holding the man.

Several others began to fill the room, dotted along the walls, murmuring quietly until a booming voice broke above.

“Prince Malleus!” A man with green hair shouted. He was openly crying and came to join them, followed by a more silent figure with long white hair.

The green-haired man was nearly incoherent as he spoke through sobs, though MC could glean that he was happy to see Malleus home safe again. He vowed up and down the walls that he’d die before Malleus was ever cursed again. They also learned his name as Malleus urged Sebek to collect himself. The man with white hair, though also enamored by the prince’s safe return, eventually stared at them.

“Are you the curse-breaker?” He asked.

MC shifted their weight, “I suppose so.”

The man furrowed his brow in confusion, “How do you mean?”

MC took a deep breath, “I mean I am— I guess.” They answered, trying to string their thoughts together, “I… he said I broke the curse but… I didn’t know what the curse was so I wasn’t trying to break a curse. I only learned his name this morning and that he was a prince a few minutes ago...” MC sighed, running their hands through their hair, “I’m sorry, it's been a lot, I’m not sure what to say.”

“I see.” The man began, then bowed his head. “Then I’ll hold my questions until you’ve had a chance to rest.”

MC nodded, sighing their relief.

Offering his hand MC took it, “My name is Silver Vanrouge, I am a knight of the castle. During your stay here I will be happy to offer any guidance. Humans like us are not as common in the Valley so it can be a bit daunting at times.”

Once more MC nodded, “Yeah… Thank you. I’ll definitely have questions.” They answered tiredly. The conversation next to them began to wane and Lilia turned his gaze to them, lowering himself to their height.

“I knew there was something about you.” He hummed, chuckling to himself, “There has to be if you’re sitting in a dragon's nest.”

Malleus cleared his throat. Unlike all the times they had to guess what his expression meant as a dragon, the pink dusting on his cheeks made his embarrassment clear as day. He looked as though he were about to argue, huffing towards Lilia… and it wasn’t that Malleus wasn’t an imposing man— but they couldn’t help but giggle at the huffing. Somehow it came off a bit more serious as a dragon and now was just… kind of cute.

Malleus looked to them and sighed, a smile easily coming to him, his rebuttal forgotten.

“Come now, you must be exhausted.” He hummed, excusing himself with the promise he’d be back soon to explain it all in time. For now however, he guided them through the tall dark halls of the castle to a room far more elegant than they’d known existed. It was far nicer than the Ramshackle dorm though they couldn’t help it feeling a bit empty without their ghosts.

“Do you think I’ll still be allowed to visit the school?” They asked idly, setting their bag down.

“If it’s what you desire I will see it possible.” Malleus hummed as he opened the door to the wardrobe. Several folded linens sat themselves on the nearby table. “If you require anything, do not hesitate to summon the staff.”

MC nodded, though didn’t feel the need to request anything and sat on the bed. The day began to sink in, both the physical tiredness that came with the journey over the mountain and the mental strain to keep up with all that happened.

“It all doesn’t feel real…” MC sighed and a weight settled next to them.

“Strangely enough, I agree.” Malleus hummed, “My friends are all much older than I left them.”

MC nodded, “Are… you going to go back and talk to them?”

“At some point.”

“Oh.” MC nodded. They felt a bit too out of it to say much else. Instead, they leaned against his shoulder, kicking their shoes off and drawing their legs under them. Malleus wrapped his arm around them and pulled them close. He was warm and easy to lean into, safe. It didn’t take long for the fatigue to win them over as they curled closer idly thinking of what their new life would be like.

[END]

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #twst malleus #malleus x mc #malleyuu #twst silver #twst lilia #twisted wonderland silver #silver vanrouge #lilia vanrouge #twst sebek #fanfic #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfic

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