#I reach into the past to more accurately convey the present

[lordturkish-robomallcop]

Rate my gay leech fic writing fit

[theostrophywife]

curiosity killed the cat.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: late night talking by harry styles.

author's note: i've been in such a writing rut lately, but sweet baby boy reggie is singlehandedly bringing me out of it. this idea has been floating in my mind for a while so I hope you all enjoy it. <3

Curiosity killed the cat.

The irony of the phrase wasn’t entirely lost on Regulus as he cautiously peered through the bustling kitchen. The elves were cleaning up after supper, humming and working diligently to keep the castle in order behind the scenes. Some of them leaned down to reach for him with soapy fingers, but he narrowly avoided each attempt, baring his teeth in warning. 

They would not deter him from his true mission to infiltrate the basement. Having explored all the nooks and crannies Hogwarts had to offer, the Hufflepuff common room was his Atlantis—the last unexplored territory that he had yet to set foot in. 

In his current state, it was perhaps more accurate to say that Regulus had never set paw in this corner of the castle. Most of the time, he found his spontaneous transformations terribly inconvenient, but as Regulus slipped past the door without a trace, the youngest Black brother was suddenly grateful for his complete lack of mastery over his Animagus form. 

To be fair, he was only trying to find some peace and quiet. As of late, Regulus had become particularly fond of the kitchens. It was always warm down here and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the ovens and beckoned him towards its glorious scent like a beacon. Not to mention the fact that the elves often left a bowl of cold milk for him every night. 

Well, he supposed it wasn’t exactly for him. At least, not his true human form. The elves were not fond of Regulus the person, but they did adore the feral black cat that haunted the halls of Hogwarts. 

Potato, potato. 

The point is, that his benevolent caretakers were typically careful about securing the ever mysterious door at the end of his little haven. Lest he get his wily little paws all over those timid badgers. Much to his delight, the security measure was not in place tonight. The door was wide open, presenting Regulus with an offer that was simply too good to pass up. 

With a shimmy, he slinked behind enemy lines. Despite being located in the lower levels of the castle like the dungeons were, the Hufflepuff common room was far more welcoming. Instead of gothic furnishings and depressing color palettes, Regulus was greeted with warm earth tones and mismatched furniture. Plants of all shapes and sizes littered the room, which were far more pleasant to look upon than the haughty portraits that lined his own common room. At least the mimbulus in the corner didn’t sputter out rather unnecessary comments about the length of his curls every time he entered the dungeons. 

The Hufflepuffs seemed averse to the menacing lighting that his fellow serpents seemed so fond of, choosing instead to illuminate their space with enchanted sun lamps. It was charming and cozy, if one were to take notice of such things. Malfoy would have deemed it greenhouse chic with a sneer that conveyed aristocratic distaste. For that reason alone, Regulus decided he liked the place. 

The growing fondness was solidified as he followed the intoxicating scent of banana nut muffins. The trail led him to a dorm tucked away into the heart of the basement. Luckily for Regulus, the door was slightly ajar, which was more than enough permission for him to venture inside and make himself comfortable. It was the standard issue room—two beds, two desks, and two dressers. Yet the right side drew his attention. 

The top of the nightstand was brimming with books, all stacked in no particular order. The color scheme of the blankets and pillows consisted of golds, pinks, and oranges, reminding Regulus of the sunset. Fairy lights and enchanted plants provided a lived in feel, which was more than he could say for his obsessively neat dorm with its alphabetically arranged library and utilitarian furniture. Everything in his room was designed with practicality instead of comfort in mind. A choice he was rather proud of until the stark contrast made his space feel cold and rigid in comparison.

The reading nook nestled beside the hearth drew him in like a moth to a flame. Regulus inspected the cloud chair, stomping on the soft woven blanket and plush pillows with his paw before coming to the conclusion that it was as good a place as any to burrow. 

This was the life, he said. Or purred, if he was being technical. 

As Regulus enjoyed the comforts of his newfound paradise, he failed to consider the fact that this dorm belonged to someone and that someone would likely be back any second to reclaim their refuge, given the late hour. Engrossed as he was with licking his paws, Regulus startled when the door swung open. Instantly, he recognized the owner of the dorm as the shy and quiet Hufflepuff that sat beside him in Charms. Regulus lifted a paw to his furry head, feeling foolish that he had not connected the dots earlier. 

No wonder the banana muffin scent drew him in. Every now and then, he caught a whiff of it in class when you quietly claimed the spot beside him. The colorful scrunchies on the dresser also sparked his memory. How many times had Regulus witnessed you twisting the hair tie around your wrist as you quietly murmured the correct answers to Professor Flitwick’s questions under your breath? It never made much sense to him that you would allow the others to blatter and stutter through topics you were clearly an expert on, but Regulus attributed that to his proximity to pompous know-it-all pricks all his life. Slytherins were known to be showoffs, but you seemed to be the complete opposite. 

Perhaps that was the reason why he stayed. Well, that and the fact that he was currently too comfortable to even dream of leaving his sanctuary. Really, the decision was made for him. Regulus watched as you settled into your desk, studying diligently as your quill flew across the parchment. Every so often, you leaned back against the chair and stared at whatever problem eluded you as though intimidating the parchment would bring forth the correct answer. It was rather endearing. Dare he say, charming. 

In his mind, only minutes had passed since the start of your silent companionship, but a glance at the clock said otherwise. It was nearly midnight at this rate. As Regulus grumbled about his inevitable separation from the comfy cloud couch, a group of girls spilled into the room. They briefly said hello to you before gathering at the vanity table on the left side of the room. Regulus assumed one of them was your roommate. Probably the dark haired girl chattering on about the party the Gryffindors were hosting tonight. 

“Do you think Cormac will be there?” she asked hopefully. 

The other girls nodded in agreement, asking questions about the older boy with misplaced  enthusiasm. Regulus wrinkled his nose. McLaggen, really? Your roommate truly needed to raise her standards. He glanced over in your direction, snorting as he caught the tail end of your grimace. Clearly, you weren’t a fan either. 

After the girls were satisfied with their appearances, your roommate sauntered over to your desk with a friendly smile. “Would you like to come to the party with us, Y/N?” 

Before you could answer, one of the other girls rudely interrupted. “Oh no, Y/N doesn’t go to parties. She’s too shy.” 

Regulus vaguely recognized the annoyingly nasally tone of the speaker. He thought her name was Brandy or Brenda. Whichever one it was, she always hung around the quidditch team batting her eyelashes and laughing in an exaggerated way that bordered on deranged. It deeply irritated Regulus. 

“Isn’t that right, Y/N? Our little bookworm only prefers the company of her novels. No chance of embarrassing yourself in front of boys when they’re just words on paper.” 

“That’s mean, Britt,” scolded your roommate. 

Regulus very much wanted to scamper across the room and bite Britt’s ankles. He lifted his head up as you stood, mentally encouraging you to even the score by chucking a tome at that horrid girl’s head, but instead you simply smoothed down the front of your gingham dress and smiled. 

“Thanks for the offer, Mina, but I think I’ll stay in tonight. You girls have fun though.” 

The others were more than happy to flee the awkward tension in the room. You bid them goodbye at the door before closing it behind you. As it clicked into place, you released a sigh. Regulus tracked your movements as you swiped a book from the teetering tower on your nightstand before collapsing into bed. 

“God, what’s wrong with me?” You whispered softly to yourself. “It’s Friday night. I should be going out and partying, but instead I’m wallowing alone. No wonder everyone thinks I’m just a boring bookworm.”

Regulus voiced his disagreement. Unfortunately for him, the words came out as a series of meows. He blended in amongst the blankets, his whiskers barely peeking out from a distance. Unaware of his presence, you yelped at the strange cat peering at you from the reading nook. The noise startled Regulus, causing him to launch across the room and into the bed. 

“Oh, it’s just you.” You sat upright, cocking your head at him. Your fingers twitched at your side, probably itching to pet him. You restrained yourself, respecting his general aversion to humans. “If you’re here to bring me bad luck, then I’m sorry to say that I’ve got enough of that on my own already.” 

In protest, Regulus attempted to headbutt your hand, but it only resulted in an unintentional nuzzle. You chuckled in amusement before carefully patting his furry head. He dodged your hand and swiped at your leg, but the padding motions quickly turned to him just making biscuits on your thigh. 

You chuckled in response. “Hm, everyone says you’re a mean kitty, but I think you’re just a little misunderstood.” Regulus huffed, but his displeasure was short lived as you scratched under his chin. He was only slightly embarrassed at how eager he was to receive more. “Look at us, we make quite the pair.” 

At that, Regulus purred in agreement.

From that night forward, Regulus became a frequent visitor. He hadn’t intended on making a habit of it, but every time Regulus accidentally transformed, he found himself in your dorm. It wasn’t his fault that it was warm and toasty and smelled like pastries. If you weren’t trying to attract a feral cat, you shouldn’t have made your room so inviting. 

During one of his visits, your roommate walked by and yelped at the sight of him. Regulus lifted his chin up in challenge as he claimed his rightful seat on your lap. “Is that the feral cat that almost took off Cedric’s fingers?” 

Regulus purred in answer. He was rather proud of that moment. Would’ve gotten away with it too had it not been for Diggory’s quick reflexes. 

You barely looked up from your book as you combed through his fur. “Mhm. He likes to follow me around sometimes. He’s like my little shadow.” A bright smile curved against your lips. “Oh, I think we found you a name. Shadow.” 

From then on, Regulus wore the name like a badge. The name seemed to awaken more of his animal instincts because his spontaneous transformations became a rather frequent occurrence. At the beginning, they were isolated to nights and thus easier to manage, but now his Animagus form seemed to have no respect for convenience. As of late, the transformations were happening more and more often with absolutely no rhyme or reason. 

The only common denominator seemed to be you. Every time Regulus was in his Animagus form, he sought you out. Whether he was interrupting Potions class to jump in your lap or resting next to you in the courtyard while you read, Regulus was resigned to the fact that he would end up in your proximity one way or another. He basked in the attention you showered him with, shamelessly nuzzling against your hand for more chin scratches and cuddles. It became a routine for the two of you. Most nights, you read in silence as he curled against you for warmth, but other nights, your inner monologue spilled out and he listened to you grapple with your shyness and anxiety. 

Funny, you didn’t seem all that reserved around him. But then again he had taken on the form of a grumpy yet harmless cat. You were none the wiser that Regulus Black was currently purring for more pets as you lamented over the events of the day. He listened intently, not quite understanding your desire to become more sociable. You seemed to view it as a deficiency, but Regulus had always leaned towards the extremities of introvertedness. Though in his case, no one batted an eye when he was abrupt and abrasive. It was just how he was. 

Hufflepuffs, on the other hand, were expected to be sunshine and butterflies. You were, Regulus thought. In your own quiet way, you radiated joy. It wasn’t loud or obnoxious or overbearing. It was just right. Regulus longed to tell you just as much, but it wasn’t like he was in a position to. Outside these late night talks, the two of you hardly spoke a word to one another. 

Perhaps it was time to change that. 

The first time Regulus tried to speak to you was a complete and utter disaster. 

It was bright and early on a Monday morning. You slipped into your seat a few minutes before the start of Charms. The two of you were always the first ones in class, so he figured it was an opportune time to strike up a conversation without overwhelming you. 

“How was your weekend?” 

You blinked up at him, surveying the room covertly as though you weren’t quite sure that he was speaking to you. Regulus watched you flush as you realized that he was indeed addressing the question to you.

“It was good,” you responded cautiously. “How was yours?” 

Regulus paused. “It was…fine.” 

Never in his life had he wanted to swan dive into the Black Lake and become fodder for the merpeople. The response was a natural conversation killer, but he couldn’t very well tell you that he spent the entire weekend lounging in your dorm as you read Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time. That little revelation probably would’ve resulted in a restraining order. 

The short and awkward dialogue made him cringe internally, but you simply smiled politely at him. For Salazar’s sake, where was the basilisk when Regulus needed it?

When lunch came around, he was still pondering the less than lackluster encounter. Regulus needed to find a way in. As his friends chattered and chatted, he stared intently across the Great Hall and watched you. Things were so much easier when you thought he was a cat. 

“Reg, mate, you haven’t blinked for like five minutes. You’re really starting to freak me out.” 

The annoying little quip from Nott brought Regulus out of his stupor. Had he truly been staring for that long? He hoped to Godric that you hadn’t caught him being an utter creep. A sly glance told him that you were none the wiser as you continued chatting with Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley. He turned to Theodore and frowned. 

“What are you staring at, anyways?” asked Mattheo. The curly headed git surveyed the room for the object of his friend’s focus, which only made Regulus more irate. 

“Nothing,” Regulus mumbled. 

Riddle, ever the menace, grinned as he spotted you. “Doesn’t look like nothing to me.” 

He elbowed Theo, who smirked once he too caught sight of you. “Say, Reggie, don’t you have Charms with that cute little Hufflepuff?” 

“Shut it, Nott.” 

“Whoa, a little touchy there, aren’t we? No need to fret. I won’t turn my Italian charms on her. After all, I wouldn’t dare go after one of my mate’s crushes.” 

Regulus bristled. “I do not have a crush.” 

“Sure, mate, and I’m Harry bloody Potter,” scoffed Mattheo. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.” 

“Does this conversation have a purpose besides showcasing your remarkable skill of grating my nerves?” 

“Aw, Reggie’s upset.” Mattheo and Theodore chuckled as Regulus stood abruptly. He flung the napkin onto his plate and walked off without explanation. “Don’t worry, mate. We won’t tell anyone about your secret girlfriend.”

Unfortunately for Regulus, the childish teasing gained traction over the next few days. Trust Nott and Riddle to be a general nuisance to his everyday life. Every time you walked past Regulus in the halls, his friends (debatable as of late) would nudge him and smirk. Given that Mattheo and Theo possessed the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, you were definitely beginning to notice. 

Even worse, Lorenzo had taken it upon himself to chat you up in the courtyard. Regulus looked on in horror as his best friend laughed and gesticulated alongside you on the bench. His presence had not gone unnoticed by their fellow classmates. A crowd of Hufflepuffs began crowding near your usual spot under the willow tree and Regulus could easily spot the tell-tale signs of your anxiety blooming. He needed to put an end to this. 

“Berkshire, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Lorenzo appeared completely unbothered as he nodded. “Sure, just let me wrap up here. Reg, you’ve met Y/N, right? She was kind enough to lend me notes for History of Magic.” 

You looked up and gave Regulus a shy wave. The desire to throttle Lorenzo diminished by a few notches. “Sorry about him. Berkshire’s a bit overeager. Not fully trained, you see.” 

His friend protested the accusation. “Hey, I’m standing right here!” 

Regulus ignored his protests. Lorenzo might as well have been halfway across the world with how little attention he paid to his friend. He was far too busy being enamored with the way you tried to bite back a grin.

“Thank you for indulging him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t go off leash again.” 

You chuckled. “It’s alright, really. I’ve got a habit of attracting strays.” 

“Where is that little monster of yours, anyways? Busy clawing off some unsuspecting student’s face?” Lorenzo quipped. 

“Shadow isn’t so bad. He’s actually very sweet, once you get to know him.”

Regulus tried not to grin. 

Lorenzo shot him a knowing look. “Sounds like someone else I know.” 

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Sorry again about him. I’ll make sure he returns your notes.” He tugged Lorenzo by the collar. “Now let’s go, Berkshire. We’re going to be late for practice.” 

“Bye, Y/N!” Lorenzo called over his shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

“Bye, Lorenzo,” you said with an amused smile. “I’ll see you in class, Regulus.” 

Regulus couldn’t help but smile. “See you in class, Y/N.” 

Thanks to his meddlesome friends, Regulus kept finding himself in less than ideal situations. The twats seemed determined to force you two together. Lorenzo, most of all. 

Every time they studied in the library, you seemed to conveniently be seated a few desks away. Every time they were walking back from quidditch practice, you coincidentally seemed to be headed to the greenhouse. Every time Lorenzo fetched something in his locker, you just so happened to be walking by between classes. 

It was during one of these times that Regulus overheard Britt making snippy little comments about your dresses and bows, commenting on how you were always lost in your books, even citing the fact that the feral cat had taken a liking to you because birds of a feather flock together. Your roommate defended you, but she was a lone voice amongst the other mindless girls who laughed along with Britt. The next time Regulus ran into her in his cat form, he made sure to hiss and claw at her. 

In terms of finding his way in, Regulus had yet to crack the code. When it was just you and your Shadow, you spoke to him for hours and hours. But when he was actually himself, you were so quiet and reserved. 

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” Lorenzo offered. 

The glare Regulus cut his way was sharper than a splicing spell. “I’ve tried, but I’m terrible at it. I asked her about the weather, Enzo. The bloody weather!” 

To his credit, Lorenzo didn’t laugh. Instead, he seemed deep in thought. “You’ve got to find out what she’s passionate about. What’s something that she could talk about for hours and hours?” 

Regulus bolted out of his chair, startling Lorenzo. “You’re a genius, Berkshire.” 

His friend looked utterly confused. “Thanks, I suppose?” 

Half an hour later, Regulus found himself standing in a labyrinth. Plot Twist, the largest bookstore in the village, was as magical as you described it to be. Each aisle was filled to the brim with books, the shelves winding and twisting in on itself to reveal even more volumes. Soft classical music played throughout the shop, its interior filled with kitschy trinkets and illuminated by enchanted candles.

If Regulus recalled correctly, the latest installment of your favorite series just recently released. You mentioned it to Ginny in the Great Hall last week while he lounged on your lap. Was it ethical to eavesdrop on your conversations and use the information he gleaned to grow closer to you? Perhaps not, but he couldn’t help it. Cunning was in his nature. There was a reason Regulus was sorted into Slytherin, after all.

So here he was on a Friday afternoon, looking absolutely engrossed in the romance section of the bookstore. Regulus picked up a novel from the display. One of your favorites, of course. 

From the corner of his eye, Regulus glimpsed your entrance into the store. Naturally, you were headed in his direction since romance was your preferred guilty pleasure. He pretended to skim through the summary despite the fact that he already read the book in its entirety. When you were reading it back in your dorm, you blushed so much that he had to see what the fuss was about for himself. 

“Oh, that’s a really good one,” you said shyly. 

“Yeah?” Regulus asked, noting the pretty flush dusting your cheeks. “Have you read it before?” 

“About a thousand times.” 

“What’s the verdict, then? Would you recommend it to me?” 

You cocked your head in observation, taking him in. Regulus was acutely aware that he didn’t fit the usual demographic of romance novel readers. Hell, even his all black ensemble clashed with the vibrant book covers. 

“I know, I know. I have the looks of someone who would rather binge murder mysteries, but I’m trying to branch out.” 

The grin you gave him made his heart stutter. “Well, I’d be more than happy to be your guide.” 

Regulus had no idea why he hadn’t realized it sooner. Books—that was the gateway to your heart. He listened in fascination as you pulled books from the shelves, talking a mile a minute about your favorite authors, characters, and tropes. You lit up the entire room as you spoke, filling the place with your infectious energy. He had only ever seen you this way in the comfort of your own dorm, so he relished in the fact that he was witnessing this not as Shadow but as Regulus. 

“Oh my god, I’ve been rambling. I’m so sorry. Once I start, I just can’t seem to stop.” 

He smiled softly. Regulus could have listened to you talk about books for the rest of his life and never grow bored. “I don’t want you to stop. I like that you’re so passionate. It’s adorable.” 

Suddenly, Regulus wished he had a camera because the sight of you smiling up at him was a memory that needed to be captured and immortalized. For now, he settled for its dizzying aftereffects. 

“Thank you for letting me talk your ear off,” you said shyly as the two of you made your way to the counter. 

“No, thank you for helping me expand my horizons.” Regulus countered as he set both of your books down. 

You started to fish for your wallet, but Regulus simply waved you off. “Please, let me.” The shopkeeper gaped at him. “Would you mind putting everything on my tab?” 

“Of course, Mr. Black.” 

“Regulus is fine.” 

“Sure thing Mr.—I mean, Regulus.” 

As the shopkeeper carefully packed up the books, Regulus leaned in. “You can call me Reg, if you’d like. Reggie, if you’re feeling particularly brave.” 

You beamed. “Thank you, Reggie.” 

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” 

The Monday after the breakthrough, Regulus marched into Charms with purpose. You glanced up in amusement as he settled into his seat. 

“You were right. Your recommendations were fantastic. I read it all in one sitting.” 

“Which one?” you asked curiously. 

Back at the bookstore, you had gotten a little overzealous with the recommendations, but at the end, you managed to narrow it down to your absolute top picks. 

“All of them.” 

Your jaw nearly dropped. “You read all of them?” 

Regulus shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Yes.”

“Every single book?” 

“Mhm.”

“But I gave you six recommendations,” you stated incredulously. You considered yourself a voracious reader, but Regulus Black was giving you a run for your money. 

“And I devoured every single one.” 

As it turns out, that was all it took to unlock the floodgates. Soon your conversations flourished from books and literature to hobbies and future plans. Regulus could tell that you were warming up to him. The conversations that were once isolated to the Charms classroom flowed easily outside of it as well.

The first few times you were spotted together, it turned a few heads. 

Regulus had never been particularly known for his sociability, so he supposed it was a rather strange sight for everyone else to find him practically glued to your side. Never mind that he’d done it a hundred times before as your Shadow and no one ever said a word about it back then. As he spotted you in your usual spot under the willow tree, he found that he really didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought of your newfound friendship. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You nodded as you moved your belongings to make room for him. “Yes, by you.” 

Regulus dropped his backpack by his feet before stretching his long legs out on the wooden bench. You watched in amusement as the wood creaked under his weight. “I prefer to be horizontal when I read. You don’t mind, do you?” 

“Knock yourself out, Mr. Black.”

“That’s Regulus to you, love.” 

“I thought it was Reg.” 

“Actually, I prefer Reggie. But only if it’s being used by you.” 

“Okay, Reggie.” 

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. 

Despite spending time with you during the day, Regulus still made his visits in the night. He truly just couldn’t get enough. Thanks to his questionable methods, you were starting to open up to him more. Just that morning, the two of you ate breakfast together in the Great Hall. You teased him for eating such a bland meal. 

“Honestly, Regulus. We attend a magical school. You could ask for anything your little heart desires and you choose to eat gruel?” 

“It’s not gruel. It’s oatmeal.” 

“My point exactly.” 

“What’s wrong with oatmeal?” 

“Nothing, I suppose. If you prefer eating cement for breakfast.” 

“You’re awfully judgmental. Let’s take a closer look at your choices. A chocolate chip muffin? You might as well swallow a spoonful of sugar and call it a day.” 

“My apologies, Mr. Black. I forgot that you abhor flavor. Shall we share your cement goop, then?” 

“After you insulted my culinary preferences? I think not, Y/N.” 

Needless to say, the two of you got along like a house on fire. Both of your friends constantly teased you about the newfound friendship. Regulus simply rolled his eyes and brushed off the comments, but even his mates noticed the way he smiled every time you were mentioned. You knew your friends were bursting at the seams with questions regarding Regulus, but to their credit, Ginny and Luna were happy seeing you happy. 

Not everyone shared their enthusiasm though. Britt, in particular, was rather cross. It made no sense that someone like you would catch the attention of Regulus Black. She had harbored a crush on the youngest Black since third year and he could barely even spare her a glance, yet here you were receiving his full and undivided attention. Britt was seething with jealousy. She simply could not accept losing to you, of all people. 

Perhaps you dosed Regulus with a love potion. Perhaps he pitied you, viewed you as some wounded animal to save. Either way, Britt was convinced that Regulus wasn’t meant to be with someone like you. A shy and quiet girl who could never hope to hold his attention for long. She just had to make Regulus see it. The perfect opportunity presented itself one Friday afternoon.

In the crowded hall, Regulus shielded you from the incoming traffic of students rushing to their next class. It wasn’t much of an effort on his part since your fellow classmates cowered and parted as soon as they caught sight of your companion’s scowl.

“Reggie, could you try not to scare the first years away?” You teased, bumping your hip against his. “Poor Anderson looked ready to cry when you glared at him.” 

Regulus bumped you back. “He nearly stepped on your foot.” 

“Did that really warrant you threatening to hide bullfrogs underneath his pillows?” 

“You’re right, I’ve gone soft. I should’ve threatened him with fire serpents instead.” 

“You’re hopeless, Regulus.” 

Regulus placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “You wound me, ma chérie.” 

The nickname made you flush. Regulus had never been more thankful that French was his native tongue. The language of love certainly had its effect on you. 

“However will you live?” 

“I’ll tell you what, if you come keep me company tonight, then all will be forgiven.” 

“I’m not helping you sneak bullfrogs into Anderson’s dorm.” 

He pouted in response. “Fine. I suppose we can have a quiet night in. Come join the dark side. We can read together in the common room.” 

“The dungeons?” You asked apprehensively. 

Though you’ve gotten used to the occasional Slytherin greeting you in the halls, the whole lot of them still terrified you. You weren’t quite sure how you felt about marching right into the serpent’s nest. 

“It’ll just be us,” Regulus added softly. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

The way he eased your worries was endearing. You bumped his hip again. “You can’t just kick people out of their own common room.”

“I’m Regulus Black,” he said haughtily. “Of course I can.” Regulus draped an arm over your shoulder and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “Come on, I know you’re dying to read that new novel you bought last weekend.” 

You rolled your eyes affectionately. He knew you too well. “You mean, the novel that you bought me. Against my will, thank you very much. I will pay you back.” Regulus started protesting, but you only held your hand up. “You’re right, though. I’m convinced. I’ll bring the snacks. Chocolate frogs for me and a bowl of gruel for you.” 

You yelped as Regulus dug his fingers into your side. “It’s a date, love.” 

Regulus paced back and forth, watching the door to the dungeons. To say he was nervous would’ve been an understatement. 

As soon as classes were dismissed for the day, Regulus wasted no time. He raced back to the common room and made sure everything was perfect. The boys were taking the piss out of him, but he paid no mind to them as he fluffed the pillows and draped a blanket over the couch. 

“Ooh, what type of candle is this?” Theo asked as he wrapped his grimy little fingers around the banana nut muffin scented candle. 

Regulus smacked his friend’s hand away. “Don’t touch that.” 

Mattheo snickered as he took in the scene before him. “You must really like this girl, Reg. I don’t think I’ve ever put in this much effort for a date.” 

“Yeah, and how’s that working out for you?” Regulus snipped. Blaise and Pansy snorted in response. 

Lorenzo bit back a smile. “I think it’s nice. Y/N will love it.” 

“You think so?” Regulus asked absentmindedly. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect. The dungeons were a far cry from your dorm, but Regulus did his best to emulate the comfort it provided. “It’s not too much?” 

“It’s a bit…cozy for my taste,” said Draco. Regulus fought the urge to throttle his cousin. To be fair, Draco hated anything that wasn’t French or expensive. “But I’m sure your girl will love it.” 

“She’s not my girl,” Regulus corrected. “Not yet, at least.” 

Tom shot a disinterested glance at him from the couch. “What on earth are you waiting for? You’ve been pining over her for months. Your yearning is starting to sicken me.” 

Mattheo grimaced. “I think that’s Tom’s way of encouraging you to make a move.” 

“Consider me encouraged,” Regulus said with an eye roll. “Now everyone get out.” 

As his friends filtered out, Lorenzo patted him on the back. “Good luck, mate.” 

Luck had nothing to do with it. Regulus refused to take his chances on such a finicky thing. He was far too resourceful to leave things up to chance. Instead, he compiled everything he’s learned about you to ensure that you wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. 

At exactly six o’clock on the dot, Regulus opened the door to the dungeons. He smiled when he found you standing in the corridor, fidgeting with the hem of your sunflower dress. You clutched your book to your chest as he stepped through the threshold. 

“Hi, Reg,” you greeted shyly. 

“Hi, love.” Regulus offered his arm, which you gladly took. “Come on in.” 

You weren’t sure what to expect at first, but you found the dungeons to be quite cozy. The waves from the Black Lake gently lapped against the stained glass windows, the murky waters shimmering across the onyx floors. The furnishings were all dark wood and harsh lines with pops of emerald tying everything together. The velvet couch was piled with pillows and candles illuminated the space, providing a warmth and coziness that you never would’ve attributed to the dungeons. 

“This is quite lovely,” you said softly. 

Regulus took your bag from you and set it gently on the marble side table. “I’m glad you think so.” 

“Where’s everyone else?” 

“Out,” Regulus responded. “If they’re smart, they’ll stay that way.” 

You chuckled. “I guess it pays to be mean and scary.” 

“To everyone else, yes.” Regulus said as he guided you over to the couch. “Not to you, though.”

The sentiment made you smile. “Well, big scary Reggie, thank you for inviting me over. As promised, I came bearing snacks.” 

As you laid out a treasure trove of treats, Regulus watched with an amused smile. “For Salazar’s sake, I’m getting a cavity just looking at all of this candy.” 

You grinned as you waved a sour gummy worm in the air. “But it’s good, though.” Regulus backed away from the neon colored candy with a grimace. “Come on, Reg. Try it.” 

“No, thank you.” 

“Please,” you pleaded, poking his cheek with the worm. “Just one little nibble. I know you want to.” 

“You’re a terrible influence,” he sighed defeatedly. 

Regulus leaned over, his lips brushing against your fingers as he took a small bite. You flushed furiously, heat prickling your skin as his emerald gaze pierced through you. From this close, you could make out the golden flecks swimming in his irises. 

“It’s a bit sweet,” Regulus murmured. His eyes never left yours as he held your wrist in place, devouring what was left of the sour worm. “But I’ve grown an appetite for sweet things lately.” 

Regulus licked flecks of sugar off of his lips, smirking when he caught you staring. You cleared your throat, eager to diffuse whatever tension was brewing between you. He tracked your movements as you retrieved your book and daintily perched yourself on the couch. 

“Shall we?” 

A comfortable silence befell the common room, broken only by the lulling crash of the waves against the windows. It baffled you how at ease you were in the dungeons. Usually, it took a bit of time for you to adjust to new environments, but something about this place seemed familiar. You felt safe here, thanks to the boy sitting beside you. 

As you curled up on the sofa, Regulus assumed his position. He scooted towards you, placing his head on your lap and stretching his long legs out until they touched the other end of the couch. With a smile, you peered at him as he nuzzled against your free hand. Regulus sighed in satisfaction when you ran your fingers through his curls. The action reminded you of your little Shadow. 

You had no idea how you hadn’t realized it sooner, but the two of them were similar in a lot of ways. They were both standoffish and prickly on the outside, but complete softies on the inside. The thought made you chuckle. 

“What’s so funny?” Regulus murmured. Despite the fact that the two of you were supposed to be reading, his book remained perched on his stomach while his eyes fluttered close. 

“It’s just hard to reconcile grumpy Regulus to the Regulus that practically begs for his head to be scratched.”

Regulus scoffed. “I do not beg.” 

You placed your hand back in your lap. Regulus furrowed his brows as he glanced up at you. With a soft nudge to your side and a matching pout to boot, he single handedly proved your point. “Why’d you stop?” 

The pointed look you gave him made Regulus flush. “Fine, I suppose I’m not above begging.” 

You raised a brow, which only made him sigh in defeat. Regulus lifted your hand and placed it back atop his curls. “Please?” 

“Only because you asked nicely, Reggie.” 

The rest of the evening was blissfully peaceful as the two of you continued reading. Well, you were reading. Regulus, on the other hand, hadn’t even cracked open his book. You could feel the intensity of his gaze boring into you while you pretended to be engrossed in your novel. 

“Do I have something on my face?” You asked self-consciously. 

“No.” 

“Then why are you staring?” 

Regulus sat upright and faced you, his emerald eyes locking onto yours. His expression was soft as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, knuckles brushing along your jaw. 

“Because you’re beautiful.” 

The air left your lungs as Regulus beheld you. The calluses on his thumb stroked your skin as he caressed your cheek. You shivered at his touch, at his scent, at his closeness. Regulus was like poetry come to life. A work of art that moved and breathed and mesmerized everyone around him. If anyone was beautiful, it was him. 

“Reggie…” 

The words died in your throat when Regulus brushed his thumb over your lips. “Y/N…” 

Little by little, the gap closed between you. Anticipation swelled in the room, enveloping everything with unspoken tension. You felt like a harp string pulled taut, waiting for release. Just as Regulus tilted your head back, a loud smack echoed through the dungeons. 

You nearly jumped out of your seat, but Regulus shielded you behind him, keeping you close. A stream of people made their way through the common room, trampling the once serene atmosphere. The commotion from earlier seemed to be coming from the large keg that Adrian Pucey was now rolling across the stone floor. The other Slythering began clearing the furniture, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. 

Regulus was incensed. “What the fuck is going on?” 

One by one, his friends streamed in. Blaise was the first to squeeze through the crowd. “Common room party, apparently. We ran here to warn you, but they were already rolling the kegs through the corridor before we caught up.” 

Theodore and Mattheo pushed their way through a couple of fourth years. At their complaint, the two boys glared at them so intensely that they slowly started to back away. 

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mattheo barked. 

“Are you deaf or just thick? Get fucking lost, mate,” Theo added menacingly. 

You flinched at the display of aggression. Regulus clocked the reaction and pulled you closer before frowning at his friends. Theodore elbowed Mattheo when he caught sight of you, who in turn elbowed Theodore back. 

“Sorry about that, Y/N.” Theodore drawled, his Italian accent seeping through the words. “We didn’t see you there. Usually, we’re more well-behaved in the presence of a lady.” 

“That’s a lie,” Pansy interjected. “You’re horrid around me all the time.” 

“I’ve known you since we were in diapers, Pans. You’re certainly not a lady,” Theodore quipped. 

“Why, you little twat—” 

“Guys,” Regulus scolded. 

Pansy stopped in her tracks, sighing as she put her hand down after landing a smack on the back of Theodore’s head. She offered her hand. “Right. Well, this isn’t how we thought our first introduction would go, but it’s nice to finally meet the infamous Y/N. Regulus talks about you all the time.” 

You flushed as you took Pansy’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Pansy.” 

“Me next,” Theodore exclaimed. “Theodore Nott, at your service.” 

The floppy haired boy bowed cheekily before taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. Regulus glared daggers at his friend, but you merely giggled in amusement. 

“Move, Nott. It’s my turn now.” Mattheo smacked Theodore away and enveloped you into a hug. “Mattheo, the most handsome Riddle. Although don’t tell my brother that. He might hex me. Anyways, nice to meet you." He paused, sniffing your hair unabashedly. "Oh! Reg is right. You do smell nice.” 

“Riddle,” warned Regulus.

Mattheo only winked at you before stepping aside. You exchanged introductions with Blaise and Draco next until Lorenzo caught up with the rest of the group. He gave you a warm hug before explaining that someone had printed out posters promoting a party that none of the Slytherins had any clue about. Of course, it didn’t take much convincing on his housemates' part before they jumped on the bandwagon, hence the packed common room. 

“I’m so sorry,” Regulus said as he turned over to face you. “ I didn’t know any of this was happening.”

Worry marred his beautiful face. Though the situation was a little more than overwhelming, you didn’t want Regulus worrying on your behalf. It was touching, truly. But you could try to push through it. 

“It’s okay, Reg. I’m fine, really.” 

“We can leave,” he offered. “Find somewhere more quiet.” 

“Already?” Mattheo asked, pouting. “But we haven’t even played butterbeer pong yet! Dibs on Y/N as my partner.” 

“No fair! I was going to ask her,” Theodore said, shoving Mattheo. His curly headed friend shoved back, which only escalated into Theodore putting him into a headlock. You shook your head in amusement. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I have no idea how to play butterbeer pong.” 

Mattheo slithered out of Theodore’s hold and beamed. “Oh, it’s easy. You just arrange a bunch of cups into a pyramid and then take turns shooting ping pong balls into them. Surely, you’ve handled balls before, right?” 

The double meaning was not lost on the group. Regulus tensed, charging up to smack Mattheo into next week for the inappropriate joke, but your response stopped him in his tracks. 

“I have,” you said softly. “Have you? Because it doesn’t seem like it from the way you kept missing the goalposts during the game last week.” 

Mattheo gaped in shock before bursting into laughter. “Oh, she’s a keeper.” 

“You’re lucky Y/N found that funny,” Regulus said to his friend. “Otherwise, I would’ve twisted your intestines into a bow for her.” 

“Taking a page out of my brother’s book, I see,” Mattheo taunted. 

“Is this a bad time to ask if you’ve ever had a body shot, Y/N?” Theo asked with feigned innocence. “If not, I’m more than willing to show you.” 

Regulus reeled back and smacked Theo on the head while the rest of the group cackled. Theo rubbed the sore spot and grumbled. “A simple no would have sufficed.” 

The more time you spent around them, the less intimidating they became. From what you gleaned, they seemed to be a tight knit group. It wasn’t at all what you expected from the Slytherins. 

“Your friends are silly,” you whispered to Regulus as the group migrated to the couch. 

In the background, Mattheo and Theodore bickered over who drank the last of the firewhisky while Lorenzo wiped the back of his mouth and burped. He winked when he caught your eye, charging you with keeping his secret. 

“They’re idiots,” Regulus scoffed. His tone was contrasted by the softness in his eyes as he watched his friends muck about. “But they’re family.” 

Throughout the night, you didn’t miss the way that Regulus fussed over you. He was a constant presence by your side, attuned and attentive to every need. When you felt parched, Regulus was there to offer you a drink. When you felt cold, Regulus draped his jacket over you without you needing to ask. He checked in with you often, making sure his obnoxious friends weren’t offending you and ensuring that the attention wasn’t too overwhelming to handle. 

You assured him that you were fine. In fact, you were surprised to realize that you were enjoying yourself. It was a lot easier to deal with your social anxiety when you had someone there to ground you. 

The Slytherins were a rather social bunch. Pansy was thrilled at the prospect of having another girl join the group. Within thirty minutes, she had talked you into going to Hogsmeade with her next weekend. She wanted a break from the boys, she said. But she also made it known that she expected a full rundown of the situation between you and Regulus. 

Draco and Blaise were very clearly eavesdropping, despite their efforts to appear nonchalant. Apparently, everyone was as invested in your pairing as Pansy was. Theodore and Mattheo didn’t even try to hide the fact that they were talking Regulus up. When Mattheo declared that Regulus rescued an injured baby bird and nursed it back to health, you nearly lost it. Regulus hated birds. 

“You’re an idiot,” Regulus exclaimed. 

“No, let him talk. I want to hear all about it. What kind of bird was it, Mattheo?” 

“Uh…the kind with wings?” 

Lorenzo shook his head. “Really, mate? That’s the best you could come up with?” 

The group continued their bantering as you watched in fascination. Their dynamic fascinated you. They bickered like siblings, but you could tell that they would go to the end of the world for one another. You could see why Regulus thought of them as family. 

“Feeling okay?” Regulus asked, nudging you with his hip. 

“Mhm,” you responded, bumping him back. “Thanks for inviting me over.” 

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I did,” Regulus said. “But I’m still glad you came.”

“Of course, I had to see you in your natural habitat. I didn’t know you were such a party animal, Reggie.” 

He grabbed hold of your waist and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I preferred when the party was just you and me.” 

You flushed, pitching forward to hide your face behind a curtain of hair. “I did, too.” 

“When everyone leaves, I intend on picking up where we left off. You should know that I’m not the type of man who leaves things unfinished, love.” 

There was no hiding the blush that blossomed on your cheeks. Crimson colored your features even as you excused yourself to the bathroom. As you washed your hands in the sink, you studied your reflection. While you would always feel the lingering social anxiety that came from being in large crowds, you thought that tonight was going fairly well. With a smile, you made your return back to the Regulus. 

“I don’t know who you’re fooling, Y/N.” Britt sneered at you as she leaned against the wall, a cigarette held haphazardly between her neon painted fingers. 

You frowned. “What are you talking about, Britt?” 

“Regulus may have fallen for your shy and sweet little act, but he’ll get sick and tired of you dragging him down sooner or later.” 

A lump formed in the pit of your stomach. Though it was no secret that Britt wasn’t exactly a fan of yours, you hadn’t expected her to say such hurtful things. Even worse, she touched a nerve with her words. 

Britt nodded pointedly towards the crowd. “Look at him. He can’t even enjoy himself without worrying about poor, helpless little Y/N.”

Regulus towered over everyone, cutting an imposing figure in the middle of the room. His eyes darted through the crowd, seemingly searching for someone. Perhaps it was the reality of seeing the worry in his features, his half-distracted responses to whatever Lorenzo was saying as he stood stoic, unable to partake in conversation because he was too busy looking for you. Worrying about you. However horrid Britt was, you realized that there was merit to her words. 

The last thing you wanted was to hold Regulus back. You didn’t want him worrying about babysitting you instead of having fun with his friends, which is exactly what he was doing now. The thought made you sad. Sure, Regulus was fine with catering to your needs now, but he was bound to tire of it sooner or later. You didn’t want to find out how long it would take. 

You didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Most of all, Regulus. 

Without a word, you passed by Britt and weaved your way through the room. You stuck to the alcoves, passing beneath its shadowy refuge until the door came to view. Only a few steps stood between you and your escape when a low, stern voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“Y/N,” said Tom Riddle. “Leaving early, are we?” 

“Oh, hi there Tom,” you mumbled, casting your gaze towards the floor. You were afraid that you’d cry if you stayed in the dungeons a second longer. “M’just not feeling very well.” 

You could feel his observant gaze sweeping over you. “I imagined you wouldn’t after encountering that hag outside of the bathroom.” 

“You saw that?” You asked in a small, defeated voice. 

Finally, you deigned to look up and found Tom staring at you. As always, the eldest Riddle was cold and stoic, but there was something in his gaze that conveyed concern. 

“Yes, and I heard it too.” 

“Please, can you—can you just not tell Reggie?” 

Tom’s expression was imperceptible besides his curt nod. “If that’s what you prefer. I’ll let him know you left early because you weren’t feeling well.” 

“Thank you, Tom.” 

You bid him a good night before reaching for the door. Behind you, Tom cleared his throat. 

“For the record, that hag doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You’re not dragging Regulus down. If anything, you’ve made the twat more tolerable over these past few weeks.” 

Before you could respond, Tom was gone. You barely caught a glimpse of his back as he climbed the stairs that led to the dormitories. The parting surprised you, but you figured that Tom probably just felt bad for witnessing the conversation between you and Britt. 

Casting a last glance towards the common room, you spotted Regulus once again. 

Softly, you whispered, “Bye, Reggie.” 

Once you were back in your dorm, you showered and decided to turn in for the night. It was just a few minutes shy of midnight as you tossed and turned in bed. Your roommate was most likely still at the party, leaving you to ponder your thoughts alone. There was an air of restlessness in the room as you stared up at the ceiling and considered your predicament. 

No matter which way you looked at it, there was only one solution. You had to end your friendship with Regulus. 

The thought filled you with overwhelming sadness. Letting go of Regulus made you feel so isolated and alone, but you knew it was the right thing to do. As though sensing your need for comfort, Shadow slinked through your door and hopped right into your lap. The black cat stared up at you with knowing eyes and meowed. 

“At least I can count on you to always keep me company,” you murmured softly as you scratched under Shadow’s chin. “It’s been a rough night.” 

Shadow bumped his head against your hip, seemingly telling you to stop feeling sorry for yourself. 

“Britt is right, Shadow,” you confessed. “I’m just not the type of girl Regulus should be with.” 

The cat bumped you again, stomping his feet on the bed in frustration. Shadow gave you a rather argumentative meow. 

“Oh, don’t give me that. We both know it’s true. Reggie is Reggie and I’m…well, I’m me.” 

Shadow hissed in response, demanding your attention. You sighed as you pulled the cat into your lap. “It’s a shame,” you whispered against his dark fur. “I really like him.” 

To your surprise, Shadow purred softly and cuddled against your side. Though the feral little cat had taken a liking to you and your dorm, Shadow was always usually gone in the morning. Tonight though, the cat curled up next to you as though it knew that this was what you needed. 

“Good night, Shadow.” 

Regulus knew it was reckless. 

But after Tom informed him of your sudden illness, suspicion rose in him like a tide. Even if you weren’t feeling well, it wasn’t like you to leave so abruptly, which meant that something was definitely wrong. All of his suspicions were confirmed when he got to your dorm.

It broke his heart to hear you say that you weren’t right for him. How could such a thought even cross your mind? There had never been anyone more perfect to him than you. Didn’t you know that you were the first person Regulus looked for in a room full of people? Couldn’t you tell how head over heels he was for you? His sweet, sassy, shy, sunshine of a Hufflepuff. There was no one better. 

Certainly not Britt. Regulus was well aware of the crush she had on him. At first, he simply ignored it. He had absolutely no interest in someone as foul and loathsome as that girl, but now that she had come after you, Regulus had half a mind to sink his teeth and claws into her ankles until he drew blood. 

At the moment, his plot for revenge was set aside as he focused on comforting you. Up until this point, Regulus had always been careful not to fall asleep in your dorm because he never knew when he was going to switch back, but tonight, he was willing to risk it. He didn’t know if this would be the last time you ever spoke to him given what you confessed earlier. 

Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he didn’t want the night to end. Regulus wasn't ready to face the prospect of you ending things, so he snuggled into your side and fell asleep to the sound of your heartbeat. 

It was a choice that would certainly have its consequences in the morning.

The first thing that woke him up was not the sunlight streaming through your windows or the chirping of the birds, but instead your surprised yelp. Regulus blinked sleepily, rubbing his paw against his snout, but instead bumped his hand into his nose. 

This was not good. 

This was definitely not good. 

You were on the other side of the bed, blankets pulled up over your chin as you stared at him in disbelief. 

“Reggie? What—what are you doing here?” 

Regulus was an idiot. A stupid, careless idiot. 

But none of that mattered now. 

“Don’t end our friendship.” 

You reeled back in surprise. “I—what—what’s even happening—”

“Don’t end our friendship,” Regulus said once more. “Fuck, it’s not even a friendship. You and I both know it’s so much more than that.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I’m not going to get bored of you. Never in a million years would I ever get bored of you. In the months that I’ve gotten to know you, not once have I ever stopped feeling drawn in. I want to know everything about you, Y/N. Even though you tell me everything without realizing it, I still want to know more. I want to listen to you talk about your books and hold your hand when you’re overwhelmed and follow you all around the castle like I’ve been doing all along.” 

You were speechless as Regulus continued. “Tom told me that you weren’t feeling well last night. I knew it was a lie, so I had to come and see for myself. I had to make sure you were okay, even if you didn’t know it was me.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “But then you said you wanted to end our friendship and I just—I was selfish. I should’ve gone back to my dorm, but I didn’t know if last night was the last time you’d ever speak to me and I just couldn’t bring myself to leave.” 

Realization dawned over you. Pieces of the puzzle started clicking into place. “You’re—you—you’ve been Shadow this whole time?” 

Regulus nodded guiltily. “I understand if you’re angry with me, but please know that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I found your dorm by accident that first night and I don’t know. I just kept coming back. You just kept drawing me back.” 

He bowed his head and ran a hand through his curls. “I realize you might hate me after this, but you have been the best part of my day since I accidentally stumbled into your dorm and I think—no, I know that I’ve fallen for you.” 

You blinked in disbelief, still processing his confession. “So you’ve been…you this whole time? You knew everything I’ve ever said to Shadow. You listened to me vent and rant, thinking I was just talking to a cat.” You paused as something niggled at your brain. “When we first ran into each other at the bookstore, did you already know I was going to be there?” 

Regulus didn't deny it. “I did. I also already read all of the books on your shelves in advance on the off chance that you might mention it in class. I didn't really need help in charms, that was just an excuse to spend more time with you and I...I bought the same candles and blankets you like so you'd be comfortable in the common room. I learned all of that by listening to you, by spying on you, and I'm sorry. I’m so fucking sorry —" 

His apology was cut short as you surged forward to kiss him. Regulus was stunned for a moment as your lips met, but it didn’t take long for him to reciprocate. One arm slid around your waist to pull you closer while the other cradled your cheek. His kisses were hungry, like he was a man awaiting the gallows and you were his final meal. It was full of passion, the longing and yearning evident as he gorged himself on the taste of you. 

Coming up for air, Regulus finally opened his pretty emerald eyes and looked at you. His gaze pierced through your skin, raw and vulnerable. “You’re not mad at me?” 

“Are you kidding? That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Regulus sighed in relief, pressing his forehead against yours. “Plus, how can I be mad when you make such a cute little kitty?” 

Regulus laughed, the sweet, melodious sound filling the room. You brushed his curls back and grinned. “For the record, I’ve fallen for you too.” 

“That’s a relief. My friends have been pestering me on finally making a move for months. Pansy cornered me last night and lectured me on asking you to be my girlfriend before you realize that you’re too good for me.” 

“I think I like Pansy.” 

“Don’t tell her that,” Regulus groaned. “She’ll definitely try to steal you away from me.” 

“I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with that.” 

“Good, I don’t want Parkinson getting any ideas about running off with my girlfriend.” 

You raised a brow. “Oh, I’m your girlfriend now?” 

“Girlfriend. Love of my life. Apple of my eye. Take your pick, mon cœur.” 

“I’ll take all of the above, boyfriend.” 

Later that morning, after much cuddling and kissing, you and Regulus finally decided to head to the Great Hall for breakfast. You smiled as he held your hand, bumping your hip as the two of you walked through the corridors. It was strange how at ease you felt. You were vaguely aware of the eyes that trailed your every move, but they quickly blended into the background when Regulus pulled you close and kissed your cheek. 

Luna and Ginny perked up at the sight of you, surprise marring their faces when they spotted Regulus at your side. Their eyebrows raised to the skies, pointedly staring at your linked fingers. 

Later, you mouthed. You had a hell of a lot of explaining to do, but your friends merely smiled and nodded. 

“Finally,” Pansy announced exasperatedly. She patted the seat next to her as you shyly slipped in. “I was beginning to think that we’d have to scheme to get the two of you together.” 

“No need,” you said with a smile. “I think we took care of that on our own.” 

Regulus smiled and nuzzled against your shoulder. The boys flashed him shit-eating grins, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Stop scaring my girlfriend away, Pans.” 

“Oh, is it girlfriend now? It’s about time. I’ve only listened to you pine and yearn for months.” 

“Excuse her,” Blaise said. “She’s just happy to have another girl in the group.” 

“Damn right I am. I’m tired of spending so much time with you heathens.” Pansy patted your shoulder. “I hope you’re in the market for new friends, because you’re not getting rid of me now. My first act of friendship will be to determine whether or not to hex that little trollop for glaring at you. Do you know that girl, Y/N?” 

You turned and found Britt frowning at you with her arms crossed. “It’s alright, Pansy. She’s not worth it.” 

At the same moment, Tom sauntered through the aisles. Once he reached Britt, he cut her a glare that would paralyze a basilisk. She cowered back and made a hasty retreat. 

Tom merely continued walking before taking a seat next to Mattheo. “So, that hag, “ he says in a no-nonsense tone. “Would you like me to take care of her?” 

You glanced at the group in concern. “What exactly does taking care of her mean?” 

Mattheo’s curly head popped up from his plate. “Oh, he means he’ll feed her to his snake.” 

You laughed at the jest, but Tom remained stone-faced. He was obviously just kidding. Right?

“He’s dead serious,” Theo added. “I’ve seen him do it before.” 

With a gulp, you turned back to Tom. “That won’t be necessary, Tom. Please don’t feed Britt to your snake.” 

Tom shrugged as though you were discussing the weather. “Suit yourself.” 

When everyone returned to their morning banter, you turned to Regulus. “What have I gotten myself into?” 

Regulus smiled and pecked your lips. “You know, I considered clawing her ankles off, but I think Tom’s way will be much quicker.” 

“Regulus Black.” You scolded, though it wasn’t entirely convincing given the grin you were biting back. 

“It’s Reggie to you, love.” You stared at him pointedly, which only made him sigh dramatically. “Fine, Tom’s snake will not have a new snack, but only because I have a saint for a girlfriend.” 

“And I have a devious little sinner for a boyfriend.” 

Regulus smirked. “I’ll make sure to worship at your altar for penance.” 

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but blush as Regulus laid his head down on your shoulder once more. You ran your fingers through his curls, smiling to yourself when he let out a satisfied hum that sounded awfully close to a purr. 

[crusherthedoctor]

A guide on how to draw Trudy "officially".

Over the years, Trudy has received the occasional fanart, and I can never be grateful enough for every last one of them. <3 However, possibly due to not being an artist myself (unless you count purposefully terrible MSPaint doodles), I sometimes get asked what her intended reference is supposed to be. As in, how is she officially meant to translate in the Yuji Uekawa style alongside the other Sonic cast members.

In the past, I've been hesitant to clarify because truth be told, I don't care too deeply about every detail being completely accurate in fanart: I'm always perfectly satisfied and delighted to see how artists handle her regardless, no matter their spin on it. You wanna make her even taller? Go right ahead. :D You wanna make her hair reach further down? Knock yourself out. :D Boots going all the way up to her thighs? Hehe long leg horsie. :D But since it's something I've been asked more than once, I feel it's about time that I finally give a rundown for those who are interested in keeping her proportions, colours, facial expressions, and other such features canon-adjacent, so to speak.

I'll be numbering my points, because bullet points always seem to get smushed together no matter how I space them, which never fails to aggravate me lol. There's a lot to go over, but I hope I've compiled and summarized them as conveniently as possible. ^^ Alright, now let's make like a Mach Speed secton and go:

1. Trudy's official height is 3'06". For comparison, Rouge is 3'05", and Sonic himself is 3'03". (Originally Trudy was shorter than Rouge, but since Trudy remaining tall in spite of her condition is already a thing, it just felt right this way the more I thought about it.)

2. Trudy's shade of green is much more softer and minty than most green characters in the franchise (Vector, Jet, Scourge, Scourge With A Vagina, etc), as a harsher shade would clash with her portrayal.

3. The rule for her clothing:

Darker blue = headscarf + bandana Medium blue = top + boots Lighter blue = gloves + boot cuffs Brown = breeches + glove cuffs

4. Her muzzle and inner ears are peach, but lighter and more pale than other characters who have peach for those features.

5. Speaking of the ears, they're a teensy bit bigger than Sonic's, but not by much. They're also more rhombus-shaped by comparison.

6. She has five bangs in total, though it may often look like four due to her headscarf.

7. Her eye shape is exactly as it's presented in the image below. The general shape is tsurime, similar to Blaze, but rounder and softer to convey Trudy's personality, and how despite the rough experiences she went through while growing up, they haven't changed her kind heart. Her eyelashes and their length are also exactly as they appear here.

...also, while she's commonly depicted with half-lidded eyes, they're NOT like that all the time like in Rouge and Vanilla's case. Her eyes are fully open in her default state like most of the cast, she's just prone to half-lidded eyes due to her tender demeanour.

And of course, her sclera is NOT the usual white. :P It might look white from afar, but upon closer inspection, it's actually a very subtle light blue. This is often an effect of EDS in real life, so I figured it would be a good way of conveying it visually within the specific framework of a Sonic character. Meanwhile, the shade of brown used is much more warm than cool.

8. She actually has a little boop for her nose (complete with the two nostrils in place of the traditional black dot), it's just not obvious when looking at her from the front, like a mind trick of sorts. It's easier to notice from the side or from other particular angles, like so.

9. There's no easy way of putting this, so I'm gonna come right at ya with it: Trudy does indeed have breasts. Not as overt as Rouge (I say that out of endearment, not out of Bumblekast-flavored contempt), but it's there all the same to indicate she's a bit older than Amy and Cream.

10. Likewise, her legs are on the thick side. Again, more subtly so than Rouge, but still notable when compared to the pipe frames of Amy, Cream, Blaze, etc. And yes, just like horses in real life, she also has a prominent... er, behind, but this too is not quite as blatant as Rouge, since her top tends to obscure some of it, at least when standing up.

11. Her tail reaches down to just above her feet, and can be used to convey some of her emotions, such as slowly swaying when happy, or raising ever so slightly to show her contempt towards a villain. The joke is that she's "politely" telling them they can kiss her ass.

12. Her ponytail reaches down to her back, and in its default state, it forms an S-shape. It's also so close to her back that it may look as though the top and bottom alike are fully glued to her lol. It's not, obviously, but it's another mind trick per say. The height and width of the big upper half are near-equal, for maximum roundness. :3

...however, when she's in motion, be it mild or major, the ponytail can react accordingly in order to convey said motion. This never needs to be portrayed super realistically, what matters is that it looks cute and/or amusing. :3 :3 :3

Basically, if you're familiar with the Shantae franchise, and you know how animated the titular protagonist's ponytail can get, you can play around just as much with Trudy's ponytail.

13. Her gloves are just like Rouge's gloves: they go above her elbows, and fit her arms smoothly even with the small triangular gap on the brown cuffs. They're very much intended to invoke the feeling of classic princess gloves, to contrast the tomboy aspects of her attire.

14. Trudy's boots are yet another mind trick: while they technically go up to her knees like Amy's boots, they end up looking as long as Rouge's boots due to Trudy having longer legs than Amy. :P As for the feet, while they may seem similarly shaped to Amy's boots from a brief glance, the toes have recently been mildly altered to be a little more visually distinct and to reflect Trudy being older than Amy, so the toes are slightly longer and pointed now, as seen below. Despite this, they still lack heels, because heels are a no-no for Trudy's sensitive hooves.

15. Despite her bandana seemingly appearing smaller than her face when she's not using it, it somehow covers the entire lower half of her face perfectly fine like a ninja mask when she is using it. What sorcery is this??? Same reason Amy can pull her hammer out of thin air. Cartoon logic, deal with it.

16. As you can see in the second image above, Trudy's top has a window, which can be easy to overlook since you normally only see it when she has her bandana up. And on the subject of her top, as you may have noticed in a few images earlier, the top also has two small triangular cuts at the bottom of both her sides.

17. As for other details that are normally concealed by her clothing, her body has some pale peach that matches her muzzle and inner ears: it starts exactly at her *ahem* chest, and goes down across the middle portion of her front, ending where the stomach ends. Her feet - or rather, her hooves - resemble the typical round and toeless texture of most Sonic characters, except they're grey, with a little bit of fluff over them like so.

18. Trudy can certainly show a wide range of facial expressions, even playful and silly ones that you might not expect from her, but even so, they are always presented in a dignified and restrained manner. She's also not the type to lose her temper outright, preferring Tranquil Fury, so you won't be seeing her gnashing her teeth madly.

In other words, if Trudy shows visible disgust towards Eggman and his nefarious ways, she would not pull a Jack Nicholson Joker grimace ala Tracy Yardley's Sonic while doing so. She would much rather turn her head a little to the side and turn her nose up at him all proper-like.

19. And finally, simply put, the design of her trusty bow is as it appears here:

...and her whip, in its finalized form, can easily be described as being able to extend like a regular whip, while the handle resembles a rapier handle.

Bonus Fun Fact: During the very early stages of Trudy's design, I considered giving her a cape that reached down to just below the knees, so as to fit her unique mix of refined-yet-quirky. It wasn't super-detailed or anything, it was simple enough, but elegant nonetheless. However, I decided against it due to fears of it potentially making the design too cluttered, and also thinking about Trudy's design not causing inconvenience if she were actually playable in a game.

That said, I still think about it from time to time, as while it may not be part of her finalized attire, I still think a cape could look endearing on her, partly due to an old comic by Skaru, so if anyone wants to try their hand at drawing her with one, that's perfectly fine with me. :> Plus, with those who already accuse Trudy of being a Whisper ripoff, despite Trudy existing long before IDW Sonic in general was even a thing, it'd be a funny way of baiting them lmao.

And that's about it, assuming I don't remember something else five seconds after uploading this post! So for any artists who prefer to draw her with her "canon" proportions and whatnot, I hope this guide is able to help. ^^ Credit for all the art used in this post goes to: @skaruresonic @star-stages @nuncadisponible @sonikkuruzu @eva-of-the-sea @thespeedhighway @aquillis-main @la-nom-nom @latias-eevee-hatori

[trohmantics]

Where My Demons Hide pt 2; chapter one

Masterlist

Italics represents Korean

Pairing: BTS × Named female character (poly)

Genre: Zombie apocalypse, horror, found family-ish?

Rating: MATURE; MINORS DNI

Warnings: Each chapter will have blood, death, and weapons in them. Triggers will be noted in each chapter. In this chapter, Skyler draws a weapon on JK, cursing, begging, just a mention of past child abuse.

REQUESTS: OPEN

A/N: it's taken a little longer than I anticipated, as I had surgery. Thankfully I'm now on the mend and back to writing! Just as a warning, the timeline and ages of BTS aren't entirely accurate. This is set in present day, COVID never happened, but the outbreak starts like COVID. BTS are between 24-29, with Skyler being 24.

As always, constructive feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to send me questions, theories, drabble requests, etc.

****Emergency Presidential Announcement****

The screen shows the president behind his desk, visibly upset and shaken. The room was dim, the American flag backdrop looking hastily hung. The room itself seemed in disarray, and the few visible people seemingly paying it no mind, similar looks as the president evident on their faces.

The camera slowly zoomed in, capturing the look of defeat in the president's face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, possibly to steady himself, before looking back at the camera.

“My fellow Americans, I come to you tonight with an urgency that I have never felt before. A darkness has spread across our great nation and the world, a darkness I never imagined could manifest in such a horrifying form. A highly contagious virus, originating from a research facility overseas, has escaped containment. Initially, it was believed to be a flu-like illness, but we were wrong—so tragically wrong. As we tried to contain it, we discovered a little more about it. A few days ago, it started turning the infected into something inhuman, something monstrous. It spread rapidly through direct contact, and even air in some cases. Countries once regarded as our allies are now battling for survival, their militaries reduced to mere shadows of their former selves. We received reports of mass casualties and chaos in cities across the globe—from London to Tokyo, from Berlin to Moscow. Nations have fallen, one after the other, succumbing to this unprecedented horror. Here in the United States, our military bravely engaged in containment efforts, but they too were overwhelmed. Major cities have become battlegrounds, while rural areas fall victim to panic and despair. We have lost our way. I stand before you now to share that, despite our best efforts, we are no longer in control. This is not a moment for false hope. There is no miraculous vaccine on the horizon, no hero rising to save us. My heart is heavy as I convey to you that we have reached a point of no return. The government can no longer guarantee your safety. We cannot shield you from what is out there anymore.”

The president’s voice cracks, tears welling up in his eyes. He looks directly into the camera, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air before continuing.

“I urge you—please, take this time to say goodbye to your loved ones. Hold them close. Tell them you love them. Share memories. Share comfort. If you believe, pray; pray for your families and friends, and pray for all of humanity. For the reality we face is one that few can endure. We are on the brink of something unimaginable. I can only express my profound sadness for all that we are losing and for all that has already been taken from us.”

The screen splits, one side with distressing images of chaos: panicked citizens, military troops overwhelmed, infected individuals staggering through the streets, the flickering lights of cities succumbing to darkness. The screen returns fully to the president, now visibly breaking down, struggling to maintain composure.

“Please, in these final moments, remember the good times-the laughter, the love. Know that you are not alone, even in this despair. As we face the end, know that my thoughts are with you, my fellow Americans.”

Suddenly, a loud crash is heard off-camera and the president’s expression shifts from sorrow to terror. The broadcast begins to flicker and distort. Screams echo in the background, and the camera shakes violently. The president stumbles back, eyes wide with fear, before the transmission is abruptly ended.

The screen goes black, power shutting off. A chilling silence fills the air, broken only by  distant sounds of chaos—snarls of the infected, sirens, screams, and the distant roar of flames.

_______

Four months. Four months since that final broadcast. Four months since civilization collapsed. Four months of doing whatever it takes to survive. 

After society collapsed, Skyler spent a week in her apartment, rationing her canned goods and bottled water. Eventually her resources started to run out, causing her to leave safety and stealthily make her way to town, where she found an abundance of weapons, clothing, and freeze-dried food. There was also a lot of survival gear.

Despite all the racism and sexist attitudes she received for being half Korean and a woman, Skyler had never been more thankful to live in a small conservative area as she had been in that moment. 

Now, four months later, she was miles away from the area. She hoped if she could get to her grandparents farm, where she would have all the tools and resources to survive on her own, that she would flourish. Maybe, if she was lucky, she would also find her younger brother there. She wouldn't get her hopes up, though. 

Skyler pulled her shoulder length brown hair into a low ponytail so her hair would stay out of her face. The last thing she needed was to have a blindspot. She pulled on her hunting clothes as well as her steel toe waterproof boots. 

She secured her crossbow across her back, and kept two pistols with silencers in their holsters. She also had a machete she kept on her right side at all times, and a few knives in her bag for skinning/scaling, gutting, and cutting meat. 

She finished getting dressed, and her items together. She was running low on food, and she knew there were a few outdoor stores in this new town where she could scour in hopes of food and supplies.

She was grateful to find a small secure building to use as a hideout for a few days before continuing on. 

___

Skyler's journey to the outdoor stores was unsuccessful. Two were burnt down, and the third was crumbling, zombies stalking the area. She was disappointed, but decided to look somewhere else to get a few days worth of supplies.

She stayed in the shadows, succeeding in avoiding the zombies as she found a small store. 

It looked to be old, one that probably existed there longer than she had been alive, and was in what most would deem a poor area. It would most likely have the necessities and no more. It definitely wouldn't have the survival gear that she was hoping for, but she could at least get some food and a few bottles of water until she could find somewhere with survival items.

It was easy to get in, no locks or blockages. After a quick sweep, Skyler found that it was all clear.

She began putting non-perishable food in her pack, attempting to steer away from cans as they take up too much room and are heavier. She stuffed her bag with small packets of tuna and chicken, jerky and other dried meats, and meat sticks. She also grabbed a few ramen packs that she knew she could eat dry. 

Skyler headed to the back, kneeling to look at options for water, thinking of maybe grabbing a few larger bottles, when she just barely heard the front door close. Her pulse quickened, and she was on high alert, searching for anywhere she could exit unseen. 

Luck was not on her side.

While kneeling, she could just make out black hair over the tops of the shelves. She heard heavy breathing, as if whoever came in was finally able to breathe. She and the unknown person were silent and unmoving for what felt like hours, before they started to slowly move. 

Skyler slowly moved, staying low to the ground, leaving her bag. She didn't want to, but if she couldn't scare whoever it was away or agree to go their separate ways peacefully, she would have no choice but to kill them. Humans were just as dangerous as the dead these days. 

Both silently moved through the store, Skyler catching up enough to see that the unknown visitor was a young man with shaggy hair, and a tattooed sleeve. She quietly readied her crossbow.

He stopped at her pack, head tilting slightly, as Skyler pressed the top of the loaded bow into his back and retreated a few steps. The young man stiffened and quickly raised his hands, chest heaving in fear. 

“Turn around.” Skyler instructed, her voice not wavering. 

He stood still for a moment, before slowly turning. 

The first thing Skyler noticed was his eyes. While they held fear, she noted in another time they must have been lively and full of happiness. 

She noted a lip ring on his lower lip, and paired with the tattoos he would have looked intimidating, if not for his boyish looks and fear in his eyes.

“I mean no harm! I was just- we ran into a small horde and I got separated from my friends!”

Skyler stared at him in disbelief. Of all the people for him to run into, he runs into someone who can speak Korean? 

Should she be willing to speak to him, help him in his little quest? He seemed friendly despite the fear, and it would be easy to help. Besides, Skyler is so lonely…

On the other hand, if she helped, he could be a hindrance. He didn't seem to have any weapons or supplies, and fending for someone else as well as herself could lead to her demise. Besides, what would happen if they found his friends? Best case she walks away, all alone again.

While arguing the pros and cons of speaking his native tongue and helping, he took her silence as not understanding him. 

He tried speaking in broken English.

“I.. not bad? Just, alone? No, lost! Friends away from-” 

“Shut up.” Skyler interrupted, startling herself with how standoffish she was being. Bow slightly lowering. “I don't know what the fuck you're saying. You,” she pointed at him and then the door, “Need to leave. Now.”

“I don't.. I not mean? No hurting you! Just need help find friends! Monsters ran me here.” He said desperately. “You know BTS? I'm Jungkook!”

Skyler looked him up and down, sure, she had heard of BTS on the radio before the outbreak, she didn't live under a rock. However, she never looked into them, only ever hearing one or two songs on the radio. 

“Who the fuck is BTS?” Skyler said, still trying to get him to leave. “Look dude, I don't care who you are. You need to get the fuck out. Now.”

She grabbed the shoulder of his shirt and moved him in front of her, pushing him towards the door. 

Jungkook dropped to the floor bowing and holding her pant leg, sobbing and begging in a mixture of broken English and Korean.

“Please! I just…I need help. Please help me. Don't put me alone. I'm alone and I miss my brothers!  Please, I don't want to die.”

Skyler's heart stopped and she seemed to forget how to breathe as she took in the scene in front of her. Instead of seeing Jungkook, she was back in the past, to her brother begging her not to leave him alone with their abusive parents, pleading to take him with her when she was made to leave the final time. 

She left out a shuddering breath and turned her head, blinking back the hot tears that formed in her eyes. She put the bow on her back, and slyly knelt down to grab Jungkooks hands, helping him stand again. She dropped his hands as soon as he was fully standing. 

He looked at her with wide, fearful eyes, ready to have to go alone. 

Skyler scanned his face, her heart clenching every time she thought of leaving him behind. She took another deep breath, slowly letting it out. She couldn't trust him fully, but she could try to help him. Maybe she would just need to keep a distance, in case he dies or wants her gone if they find his friends.  

“I'll help you” 

[sirensoftheweb]

AI Generated Images: The Concept of the Signified and the Signifier

By Amphitrite🧜‍♀️

As I get older, I begin to reflect on the past more often and to do so I look back at old family pictures and videos. These allow me to piece together my childhood and remember parts of it that I never would have thought of. Family pictures and videos are not meant to be works of art, I feel that they are meant to be a collection of the best memories, like a highlight reel of my life. 

I had never thought of how my memories would shift or my perception of my childhood would change if I had not seen these family albums. In reading “Maria Mavropoulou — How the artist used AI to rewrite her own family history,” I was able to understand the perspective of someone without old family photos to reflect on. Instead, Maria Mavropoulou was able to create family photos from personal memories using DALL-E, an AI program. While generating these images, she explains that based on scenarios, objects, different time periods, and descriptions of people, she was able to create photo replicas of her childhood memories. She also was able to create images of memories she wished had occurred.

What stands out to me in Maria Mavropoulou's story is the accuracy of the time period and the people that she was able to create in these images. Although the faces are distorted, you can still makeout who the people were meant to represent, according to Maria Mavropoulou. The accuracy of DALL-E reminds me of Ferdinand de Saussure’s concept of the signified and the signifier. The signifier is the image that gives meaning and the signified is the concept that is evoked in one’s mind, thus the conveyance of the overall meaning is created. What is interesting to me is that DALL-E is able to utilize the concept of the signified and the signifier to convey accurate AI generated images while the objects are not necessarily accurate themselves. For example, when looking at the images of people’s faces, we cannot see the faces of the individual or much of the facial features. However, we can tell that this is meant to be a person’s face. Therefore, AI image generators are made so that they do not have to necessarily depict human beings, but what they must generate is enough signifiers to convey people to the AI user. 

Therefore, through Maria Mavropoulou's use of AI to generate family pictures, we can deduce that the accuracy level of the images is based on how many signifiers can be detected by the human eye to give an overall meaning to the scenario happening in the family photo. This leaves me thinking about the question that she presents at the end of the article: “What does it mean if AI images provoke feelings in us the same way genuine photographs do?” The conclusion I have reached is…Is that not what AI images are meant to do? If the AI generated images are intended to replicate family photos, then of course they are going to provoke emotions. The same way when we see art that reminds us of something upsetting, we feel, even if the art is not directly representative of the signifier it reminds us of. The only difference with AI generated images is that the signifiers accurately signify something meaningful to us. Overall, I find that when AI generates images that provoke feelings in us, it is the result of the information we input into the program, and thus does not ‘signify’ anything beyond what a piece of art would.

[speenach]

life update: wellbutrin (aka bupropion) will lower your seizure threshold, all right!

🎶 'cause karma is my boyfriend! karma is a god, karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend karma's a relaxing thought ...

What is karma?

according to ideapod.com, "Karma is a Sanskrit word meaning 'action.' It refers to a cycle of cause-and-effect that is an important concept in many Eastern Religions, particularly Hinduism and Buddhism. ... it means that the steps of your life, your spiritual development, and your personality are directly molded by your thoughts and actions. Present you affects future you." i hope i'm not too far off, but this lil article does remind me of the way that i think my friend with the relevant knowledge explained it to me sometime in the past decade. unsurprisingly, the song "Karma" might simplify this a little; but even if it doesn't really, 100% accurately represent what karma is, spiritually, it's my favorite Taylor Swift song of the moment. arguably the best on Midnights.

spider boy, king of thieves weave your little webs of opacity my panties* made your crown. trick me once, trick me twice don't you know that cash ain't the only price? it's coming back, around.

*it's actually "pennies," but -- excuse me? 👑 listen to this song and try to tell me you don't hear "panties." or just try to tell me it doesn't make the better lyric. try to tell me that it doesn't fit Taylor's chest voice. try to ignore the harmonies in, "i keep my side of the street clee-ean. you wouldn't know what i mean." tell me this isn't one of the best songs to cat-walk in the airport to. try to keep it out of my karaoke-ing mouth this summer. i dare you.

speaking of airports and causes and effects and summer -- eek! i was supposed to visit Ireland and the UK this past week (only Northern Ireland is part of the UK, fun fact!?). my boyfriend (my actual one, Ben, not the concept) was taking me overseas for his college roommate's wedding. it was going to be very cute! and maybe even nudged me to think more seriously about marriage -- an institution i've resisted since growing up with its politicization, a thing that could maybe actually be practical if i wasn't so worried about the aesthetics of my own fucking personal life being twisted into talking points for the right. fuck them, fuck JK Rowling, fuck bisexual erasure, fuck transphobia, fuck off.

if this sounds disorganized, it's because it is! it's because i want to convey something about the state that my brain apparently reached for me to have my first seizure on thurs, may 11, DURING A LAYOVER IN VIRGINIA, HOORAY!

sorry, the rest of this post might be upsetting for various reasons. content warning for:

expanding on aforementioned seizure & another the next day

psychosis

medical bills from the ER(s) lol

babbling — this isn't really a warning as much as it is a qualification: since i do have some (small) degree of control over who can find me on instagram, and this is likely too long to go viral organically — if you're reading this, it’s prob because i posted it or sent it to you, or it was shared by someone whom i trust with the decision to share. something happened to me last week, and, if this tumblr blog is going to be what i wanted it to be when i wrote my inaugural post in january, it's the place for me to explain what happened from my perspective. i want the people in my life to know. i also, just, can't imagine calling people up just to be like... "hey i had a medical emergency but i'm okay." idk, i want to have my whole-ass say on it. you gotta read the taylor swift lyrics first.

all right, so, right before we left for the airport, i had a meeting with my dissertation advisor about the chapter i've been struggling with for the whole school year. i was so anxious i hadn't slept the night before, even after staying up all of monday night, too, revising the most recent draft. i also smoke a lot of weed, but it couldn't help me sleep this time. instead -- and i say this with some degree of expertise/professionalism -- i must have had something like a psychotic break. i had sent my advisor about twice as many pages as he was expecting, and i literally could not believe it when he told me that what he'd read so far sounded good. i told him i felt like a delusion of grandeur was coming true. and, after that, there was a moment where i literally thought he was reading my mind or speaking to me in code or something. it was weird. i was weird.

for the rest of my waking hours, until my first seizure, i thought i'd unlocked some secret of the universe. overwhelmed by the body language of hundreds of traveling strangers around us, i seriously thought i could read people's minds, too, or at least Ben's. normal airport stuff happened, our flight kept getting pushed back, waiting was miserable; in addition to convincing myself i was reading Ben's mind, i concluded that the only logical explanation for everything was that the internet must be down, like, universally, and/or everyone's collective consciousness was going through something like Opposite Day. ... again, i was weird. but, at this point, it seemed like i just badly needed some sleep. i also kept randomly singing the chorus to “anti-hero.”

sweet like honey, karma is a cat purring in my lap, 'cause it loves me

our flight got pushed back so late that our airline put us up in a "quality inn" for thursday night. my grand mal happened during the lyft ride there, which royally freaked out our driver and pushed Ben over a mental cliff from "my girlfriend's acting weird" to "my girlfriend might die." after sleeping through a $4000 ER visit that i don't remember, that my family and i have to figure out how to pay $2000 for lol, i passed all the psych tests to be discharged. we had a short connecting flight just for me to have the same delusions and another seizure during our layover in new jersey, right around the time our Ireland flight was finally canceled. don't ask me how much the second ER visit was because i don't know yet! friday night, i slept in a hospital bed in a hallway, before i remember getting some scrubs and an actual room for the rest of the weekend. no pillow, though -- just two sheets. i was pretty confused and upset after the first couple times i woke up there and still couldn't pass the psych checks until sunday. but obviously i eventually did, Ben came to get me, and we finally flew home monday.

it's actually kind of funny. it's okay, my home doctor laughed at me, too, when i saw her on wednesday; i am a clinical vignette. like, classic psych case. girl with depression and anxiety misses too much sleep, smokes too much weed, has seizure risk factors, and seizes. (i also wasn’t eating enough, surprise). among other things, i'm on prozac and wellbutrin but am better about the latter, because i associate the former with heartburn, and i get the impression that i can actually feel when the latter works. doc and i decided to halve my wellbutrin dose, at least until i see my therapist and psychiatrist on tuesday, and i'm on a THC/tolerance break. i'm tired from over/writing this, but that's what happened!

karma is the thunder rattling your ground karma's on your scent like a bounty hunter karma's gonna track you down, step by step from town to town. sweet like justice, karma is a queen...

[flickeringart]

Neptune in aspect with Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Pluto and Chiron

(Read my other posts 1: Neptune aspecting Sun & Moon, 2: Neptune aspecting Mercury & Venus, 3: Neptune aspecting Mars)

It is always difficult to interpret aspects of generational planets to other generational planets because they are such big forces and encompasses such broad complexity that it would take a genius to accurately convey their impact through the Mercurial function; verbal and written communication. The social and collective planets are describing the bigger picture of what is going on a societal and global scale – but they do matter in the personal natal chart because they indicate the overall collective climate that one was born into and will inevitably color the personal life experience. When I refer to “collective tendencies” in describing these aspects I’m therefore also referring to “personal tendencies”.

Neptune in aspect with Jupiter

With the harmonious aspects this would translate into a time of deep collective faith and belief in the transience of the world as well as a faith in the ability to be redeemed through the correct attitude and positive expectations. This is a typical aspect of “follow your heart and your dreams” which is often considered extremely naïve by more “realistic” people. With this aspect forming at a point in time, there’s a greater collective tendency to take chances and put one’s luck in the hands of the universe. This aspect lends itself to big dreams and visions, a freedom to pursue spirituality and let go of inhibitions, to pursue freedom with complete abandon of boundaries, to enjoy culture and contribute to it in order to feel closer to the divine. In case of the hard aspects, belief systems may be dissolving and reconstructed, the future might seem obscure; the erosion of culture and lost sense purpose might cause people to pursue religion or spiritual doctrine more vigorously than ever. People could attempt to escape from it all through distraction and dissociation, to cling to illusions in order to cope, or take to drugs in order to numb the sense of meaninglessness and desperation that permeates the social-societal fabric. The hard aspects could indicate disillusionment and disappointment in religious doctrine, an abandonment of belief and collective spirit. People could feel betrayed and deceived by thought leaders and visionaries leading them astray instead of enriching their lives. In any case, these two planets together combine the yearning for something sacred and transcendent with the symbolic expressions of meaning in culture and social life.

Neptune in aspect with Saturn

With the harmonious aspects this combination of planets, the collective might try to create a system of protection for the less fortunate, to provide a container for the unformed and passive souls that are helpless in the face of existence. It might also lend itself to collective fantasies of the ideal state with an ideal structure. Hard work and duty might be glorified and seen as the height of goodness. There could even be a great sense of bliss in restricting and depriving in order to chip away at a distant goal. It could also mean that there’s romanticizing and mythologizing of authority, a deep need to idealize paternal figureheads and put faith in tradition. This aspect forming at a specific point in time could generate a tendency to expect to be taken care of by society, for the powers that be to provide and coddle its citizens. There could be an expectancy to be redeemed through putting noses to the grindstone and get rewarded in this (or the next) life for doing the right thing, for believing in the system. With the harmonious aspects this might not be such a disastrous preconception to live by but with the harder aspect it becomes another story. With the hard aspects, Neptune-Saturn might express ad deep guilt and regret in not pursuing worldly goals or becoming successful – there could likewise be a sadness of not being receptive enough to have dreams and longings because of too much realism. There might be great defensiveness collectively against chaos as to make people paranoid to not loose control. Counter to what is desired; this fear might cause more disorder and a collapse of defense systems through the very effort of keeping them intact. Saturn has to do with boundaries and Neptune has to do with dissolution, which might indicate collective experiences of trying to keep things in but being unable to. Avoiding the “swamp” whatever form it comes in, would be the dilemma of these people’s lives and for the greater collective at this specific point in time. Escaping responsibility causes guilt and disorder and taking responsibility will cause guilt and disorder, whether it’s mental or physical or both. There’s dysfunction present at both ends. There would possibly be an undermining of authority taking place and simultaneously a stronger defensiveness around authority in order to not fall prey to the temptation of chaos.

Neptune in aspect with Uranus

With the harmonious aspects, this set of planets will combine themselves to create a common experience of looking to the future for redemption. That which is new is idealized and welcomed with open arms – change might seem like an appealing concept. Dreams of a utopian society where every individual is accepted and harmoniously coexisting without the necessity of rigid rules and structure might be prevalent. Faith in humanity and its capacity for genius to solve all its problems might come with this planetary contact. In fact, Neptune is sextile Uranus at this point in time, pointing to a longing for change and the opportunity to create something new that saves humanity from the “dark” past and elevates it to new heights of spiritual and scientific excellence. This is a highly idealistic combo that can produce genius solutions that are in line with the yearnings of the collective. The hard aspects can create tremendous despair and incapacity to pursue progress, without feeling like there’s an abandonment of the potential for redemption. These are the aspects that will sabotage any new endeavor and model in favor of remaining in a state of nebulous undifferentiated potential. New discoveries and insights made during the time of the hard aspects might produce great hurt and disillusionment in the collective. The new discoveries will seem to threaten that which is perceived as pure and sacred, the romantic ideals of humanity will be crushed in favor of breaking free from the limits of the status quo. The collective might polarize into people who want to jump on the band wagon of more advanced thought and the people who can’t abandon the “way things are” because of sentimentality and feeling ties. Either way, with the hard aspects there will be a conflict of the glamorous, timeless and bittersweet and the push to break out of the confines of old society. Neptune often symbolizes the urge to regress or transcend to reach a state of unity; Uranus symbolizes radical rebellion and revolution. With the hard aspects, there’s no way to have both. Uranus is too aggressive and might push people into emotional chaos, Neptune is too receptive and might consume and confuse people as to what is really going on in terms of thought advancement to ever come outside of their current mental framework.

(Buy products with my art) 

Neptune in aspect with Pluto

With the harmonious aspects, the Neptune-Pluto dynamic expresses itself through experience of unity through crisis. This might sound scary, but Pluto is after all representative of destruction and rebirth. With this aspect the collective longing for redemption stimulates the impulse to protect something that is necessary for survival. At this point in time Neptune is sextile Pluto, which makes sense considering the state of the world we’re in at the moment. There’s a sense of a need for survival in order to be able to guarantee a blissful destiny of humanity. The collective feeling tone is certainly categorized by fear and paranoia at this time, but also of greater oneness because the whole world is going through this pandemic. With the Neptune-Pluto sextile there’s a need for drastic measures in order to survive the pressure that is felt. The way to Eden is through the darkness. Pluto is in Capricorn, which suggests the desire to protect and control the structure of society at all costs – hard work and endurance is necessary for survival on a collective level. To ensure integrity of the building blocks of society becomes more important than anything else.

With the hard aspects between these planets, the picture becomes less appealing. The urge to merge and retreat into the world of pre/post existence to find healing and peace inevitably causes chaos and violent destruction. The collective would find that the fear and pressure that is experienced is too much to handle. Taking control and exercising power destroys all the hope of beauty and love in the world. This aspect could indicate a time of heart-breaking vulnerability and a lot of fear and need to escape into a dream of how things could be. People born around the years of 1814-1822 seem to have Neptune square Pluto in their charts if you look it up on astrotheme.com. These people would’ve been born into a collective climate of hopelessness and despair to some extent, of power wielded over the weak. There would’ve been a necessity to surrender to the threat of death, to accept the unacceptable and either give up power or use it at the expense of sensitivity and compassion. Karl Marx is a good example of an individual with the square aspect because it falls across two angular houses, Pluto in the 1st  house of self and Neptune in the 10thhouse of public image. The conflict between Neptune-Pluto is consequently evident in his persona. Publicly he’s known for his ideas about how the ideal society should be run (Neptune conjunct Uranus in the 10th). He argued that class tension and antagonism that developed under capitalism was unsustainable – the ruling classes controlling the means of production and the working class offering their labor in exchange for wages would not work in the long run in his opinion. The working class would eventually develop class-consciousness and conquer political power to establish a classless communist society. In this case, Neptune symbolizes the working class and Pluto the ruling class - in Marx’s experience these were at odds with each other (as reflected in his chart). His opinions certainly came from his inner personal tension of needing to identify as powerful (Pluto 1st house) and to offer a recipe of redemption as a part of his life’s work (Neptune in the 10th). I’m sure he felt powerful in himself, yet despairingly at loss when having to contribute to society. Undoubtedly, he felt like he had to give up his power to serve at the feet of the ruling class, to “give himself up”, like Neptune often nudges us to.

Neptune in aspect with Chiron

The harmonious aspects would translate into a peak experience through suffering, a sense of being touched by the sublime through the unintended infliction of pain, whether it’s physical or psychological. Redemption is inextricably linked with the misfortunes and wounding that can’t be cured with current scientific method. Suffering is somehow a vehicle for finding a sense of unity with the remainder of life, it makes for a transcendent experiences that allows for ecstatic bliss in conjunction with permanent damage and disability. At the point in time of the aspect’s formation there might be an unusual acceptance and romanticizing of disability, even to the point of elevating it to something divine and sacred. Knowledge and methods of healing are pursued as a means of redemption, a means of returning to Eden. Technique and skill to remedy the wounds of the collective are sought with a deeper emotional hunger. Compassion and unconditional love might be seen as the key component to healing. Artistry, creativity, music, drug use, alcohol, meditation, hypnosis and emotional surrender might be sought in the name of healing. There could be an effort to collectively spread as much knowledge and insight as possible in order to cure a little bit of the ignorance that causes so much trouble in society. Living with a permanent wound unites people, it connects the souls of the world in mutual longing to go “home”, to return to oneness. The wound stimulates a longing for fusion, which might express itself through a deep understanding of people’s suffering. Princess Diana is a perfect example of someone with the trine; she saw the universality of suffering and wasn’t hesitant to shower “love” on people with severe sickness or disability. She saw herself in people’s pain.

The hard aspects are more gruesome, as always. Personal wounds conflict with the need for fusion and a sense of oneness with existence. At the specific point in time of this aspect there might’ve been feelings in the collective of being fundamentally flawed and damaged to ever be redeemed and brought into the light of the eternal. There would’ve been great struggle to save people from irretrievable damage, yet the longing itself could cause more damage and additional feelings of insufficiency. There could’ve been a tendency to cover up the wound, numb it out and avoid looking at it in order to have a chance at something beautiful, pure and elevated. However, the escape and dissociation from it would only make it worse. The resistance to hope would potentially make the healing journey difficult. Great sympathy could be present yet it would be frequently cancelled out by stone cold realism. Chiron is the wounded healer archetype. He uses the mind and his practical skills to cope. When he’s in hard aspect with Neptune there’s going to be tension in the face of the possibility of redemption. It might only be an illusion after all, and the dark abyss of disillusionment is nothing to gamble with– consequently people would stick to the difficult but nonetheless, real, experience of pain in front of them. However when the pain of life becomes too much and one succumbs to the sweet escape through drugs, alcohol, food, tv, spiritual practices or any other method, it might backfire terribly and cause total disintegration and victimization. A good example of someone with the square is Oprah Winfrey with Chiron in the 1sthouse and Neptune in the 10th house. She’s widely known as a person of great compassion and insight – on a public level she embodies the role of the redeemer to some extent. Her identity however is that of someone who’s been wounded yet has come to terms with the burden and has learnt to live with it. She’s generally perceived to be very wise, similar to Chiron in myth. However, in her need to heal people she makes it into a show and molds the narrative to her liking or preference sometimes. She’s deeply compassionate, yet she can also expect people to live with the permanent burden of certain pains. Her Neptune draws the public in – promises redemption, but in person, she expects people to be realistic and strip their issues down without glamorizing or mythologizing.

[sirtwentyofhousegoodmen]

Arcturus at Orion's birth plz

July 5th, 1929

"Papa!"

Arcturus shifted his gaze from the newspaper to the four year old girl sat on his lap, who looked up at him, beseechingly.

"What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Can you read me a story?"

Arcturus rolled his eyes heavenward, and before he could tell the little hoyden to go bother her mother for one, he was hit with the reminder that Melania was rather occupied birthing his son at the moment.

He sighed—he'd come to his study to hide from his blasted uncles, cousins and siblings, all eagerly awaiting news of the Black heir's arrival with champagne and cigars, a noticeably more jovial celebration than there was at Lucretia's birth. No wonder, as Phineas Nigellus was no longer there to scream at everyone for their shortcomings.

Knowing that Lucretia inherited his strong will, and not having the energy to send her away after being awake for the past twenty hours, he begrudgingly put down his newspaper and, with a lazy swish of his wand, plucked an old storybook out of the bookcase.

"Just this once, Lucretia Black," He warned her, "Your father hasn't the time for such nonsense—so don't get any ideas about this being a regular occurrence."

Lucretia nodded, black curls bobbing up and down with each motion, and leaned back down onto his chest, waiting for him to begin.

It was one of Melania's books that she'd left in his study—they often took lunch there together, though rather than engage in conversation, an activity neither really favored, husband and wife preffered to read in each other's companionable silence.

It seemed innocuous enough—besides, it wasn't as if he could read Lucretia the tome he'd just acquired on Egyptian blood magic.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

Arcturus raised his eyebrows at that, then nodded in approval at the statement. This was precisely the sort of thing an impressionable young girl like Lucretia should be reading.

As he continued, his voice grew softer and softer, owing to Lucretia's slowing breaths and drooping eyelids, but also to the fact that he was growing rather invested in the plot himself. He would never read this womanish dreck if Lucretia weren't here of course, but it was decently written, all in all.

The sound of the study door creaking open made Arcturus stop, but before he could look up to see who'd disturbed them, Lucretia said the last thing he wanted her to say at that moment.

"Burgie!!"

The girl in question darted into the room, a blur of black curls and white lace that Irma had trapped her in from head to toe.

Pollux's daughter was a terror. She looked innocent enough: all neat black curls and bright blue-grey eyes, but she was constantly running circles around her parents, and there wasn't an order in the world she couldn't flagrantly disobey. Unfortunately for him, Lucretia had taken to her cousin from the first—the girls were practically inseperable. In the first three years, it was often quite difficult to tell them apart—though now their faces were taking their own distinct shapes.

"Where were you, Lucy?" Walburga asked, her arms crossed and her face a mask of supreme churlishness.

"I found Papa," Lucretia said, as if the fact was a complete justification. "He's reading me a story."

Walburga turned her—far too sharp—gaze to him, and pouted. "I want to hear the story."

Arcturus's first reaction was a strong no—but then he realized that word didn't exist in Walburga's vocabulary, and if he were to introduce her to it now he'd be getting an earful from both her and her shrew of a mother.

Sighing, he ran a hand over his face. "I hate my life," he muttered to himself.

Walburga seemed to take that as a 'yes', as she climbed atop the couch and burrowed herself into his other side. Without a clue as to what to do, he just gaped at her nerve while she smiled up at him, looking damn near catlike.

"Go on, Cousin Arcturus," He narrowed his eyes at the cheeky, yet accurate form of address. The chit was good, he'll give her that. "Read!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you speak to your father that way, young lady?"

"Yes."

Arcturus blinked, then snorted. "Fair enough. But I'm not your father, so you'll take care to watch your tone when you speak to me."

She sighed, sulkily. "Yes, Cousin Arcturus."

Giving her a final stern glance, he put his focus back into the book and read until the two girls' breaths grew slow, and their eyes closed. Finally seeing they were asleep, he made to get up, then came to a crushing realization.

The bloody chits had him pinned to the infernal sofa.

Sighing, he made to lift Lucretia off of his left side but the girl had her arms firmly wrapped around his middle, and any sort of strong movement would have woken her—and in turn Walburga.

Turning to Walburga, he debated the merits of whether or not to pry her off him as well. On the one hand, she wasn't his (she'd be a damn sight less impudent if she were) and he did not want to be any more familiar than he already was . On the other hand, he was the official head of the family and he'd be damned if he was going to miss his son's birth over a sleeping hoyden.

Thankfully, the debate ended when the study door creaked open and Pollux came in, a sheen of sweat on his forehead—he'd never taken to cigars that well—and a glass of champagne in hand, beaming.

"Arcturus, it's—"

"Can you get your blasted daughter off me before you say what you have to say, Pollux?"

Pollux' seemed to take notice of his other companions and their state, as his eyes widened and he promptly put down his cigar and champagne flute on the table nearest them, and in one swift motion lifted up his daughter into his arms.

"Apologies, Arcturus," Pollux said, lightly rubbing a mildly fussy Walburga's back as she settled into her new position. "She can be a bit of a handful sometimes, our Burgie."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow in dissaproval at the look of pure adoration on his cousin's face at his daughter. First Irma, now Walburga—he was starting to get the feeling that Pollux actually liked his women impertinent.

How droll.

"Yes," he answered instead, "She certainly can. Anyhow, what is it you wanted to tell me, seeing as you've seen fit to come into my study?"

Pollux remembered himself then, and his bright smile was back. "Yes, of course—Congratulations are in order, old boy: You have a son."

Arcturus felt a wave of astonishment come over him, leaving him wide-eyed and dazed. "He's here?"

Pollux nodded. "Yes—Irma told us all that Melania's waiting for you upstairs."

Without another word in his cousin's direction he stood up, lifting Lucretia up with him, and all but ran upstairs, past all the well-wishers no doubt using his son's birth as an excuse to get plastered in the drawing room.

A son, an heir, a true heir! Ha!—Arcturus hoped that Phineas Nigellus had a good view of his triumph in hell, he wanted to see that old bastard eat his words.

The House of Black already had a male heir—Alphard's birth, though met with distinctly less fanfare since Melania's pregnancy had been announced by then, had been two months ago and his uncle Cygnus had not stopped crowing since. But this was different—Arcturus had an heir now, his own heir. A son to carry on his name and his legacy, a son to shape into a fine young man and to teach what it meant to be a proper black.

He reached the same oak door he'd gone through four years ago, and grabbing the handle, pushed it open.

Melania was on the bed, her face pale and drawn, and the healer beside her had his face set in a frown. Arcturus approached the man, the feeling of Lucretia’s hands around the back of his neck growing tighter.

“Is she alright?” He asked, without preamble.

“Ah, Mr. Black,” The rotund man took off his comically tiny, fogged-over pince-nez, cleaning them with his handkerchief. “Yes, I assure you—Mrs. Black is doing perfectly well, as is your son. The birth was rather strenuous on her, I’m afraid.”

“How strenuous?”

The man grimaced. “She’ll be perfectly fine—but I wouldn’t advise having another for at least a few years. I don’t think her body could take it.”

Arcturus furrowed his brow, shocked. “What? She did perfectly well with Lucretia.”

“The boy was larger than Lucretia,” The healer said, as if he were indulging a dim-witted child, which only served to raise his hackles. “Combined with the birth being four times longer, it’s no wonder she’s unwell. Rest assured, she’ll be perfectly fine with some bed-rest, and in a few years, if you still want another, we can certainly discuss what paths we could take on that front.”

Before Arcturus could convey his supreme outrage at being spoken to in such a way, the jolly man had the audacity to give him a pat on the back, and direct him to the crib where they’d put his son. Gingerly, he put Lucretia onto a chaise in the corner of the room, and approached the crib with trepidation.

When he caught sight of his son, he felt the breath leave him.

The boy was his mother’s spitting image—brown hair, large, owlish eyes, and pudgy red cheeks. The only feature he’d inherited from his father were those classic steely gray eyes that most Blacks were blessed with.

Carefully, he lifted him from his crib, and positioned him properly in his arms. The boy stirred, before wiggling a bit more and turning his new eyes up to peer at his father.

His son. His son.

Arcturus had never felt more proud in his life. All the tests, the trials, every single accomplishment in his life paled in comparison to this one. His son was the totality of all his efforts, the ultimate triumph.

But there was something else. Something more.

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of Melania’s stirring from the other side of the room, and, remembering himself, he approached her with their son in tow.

“Remember, Mr. Black, she’s too weak to hold him at present—I’d advise keeping a safe distance.”

Arcturus gave the man a glare, and he rightly looked cowed, excusing himself and all but running from the room. Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, he looked over at his wife, who was just beginning to wake.

“Arcturus?” She asked, her voice tired and muddled.

"I'm here, Melly," He told her, taking his free hand and using it to wipe off the sheen of sweat that had gathered on her forehead.

Melania opened her eyes, blearily, and when she looked over at him with their son, gave them both a shaky smile. "How is he?"

"Perfect," Arcturus replied, meaning it more than he'd ever meant anything in his life. "He's perfect—your spitting image."

"Really?" She peered over at his face. "I rather thought he took after you."

"He has my eyes," he told her, bringing their boy closer. "The rest is all yours."

She sighed. "Is he right? I can't have any more?"

Arcturus blinked. The healer had told him she might very well have another in a few years, but they'd told his mother the same. He didn't want to risk it—wizards had not perfected the art of childbirth and h wasn't about to take her to a muggle so he could cut her open like some fish.

The thought of Melania on the bed, like mother, covered in pustules, soft, sweet voice meant for songs gone wheezy and delirious—No. No, he wasn't going to let that happen. He couldn't let that happen.

"Yes," Arcturus said, decision made. "It's not safe for you. We won't be having anymore."

Her face turned doleful then. "Oh."

They sat in a sort of awkward silence then while Arcturus kept smiling down at their son, until it was broken by the sound of a slight sniffle.

"I'm sorry."

Arcturus started at the words, then turned to meet his wife's eyes, which had become wet with tears.

"What?" He asked, mildly annoyed at the fact he had to deal with womanish drama today of all days.

"I failed you. I can't give you more children—what kind of a wife am I?"

Melania's face seemed to be a mixture between dawning horror at the fact that she'd failed in her duties and genuine sadness that she'd never experience what it was like to hold another baby of hers in her arms again.

Arcturus moved to cut off the stream of tears before it became too much for either of them.

"You've given me an heir, and a daughter," Arcturus pointed out, voice measured. "There's nothing else expected of you."

"You should have more," She said, shaking her head, her breaths growing shorter. "I wanted more." The last sentence was spoken in a kind of hushed tone.

"More are not worth your health, Melania." Arcturus groaned, was she truly under the impression she'd failed him? Had he ever intimated he wanted a house full of little rapscallions running about? He didn't—two was more than enough.

"That's not—"

"It is, and it is the final word we will have on this subject." Arcturus sighed. "You will not die, Melania. Not for one more son, nor for ten. You, Lucretia, and the boy are all I need. You are all..." he cleared his throat, uncomfortably, "...more than I could ever deserve. I have an heir—Now, all that matters is you and the children. Nothing more."

Melania looked at him, flabbergasted at how candid he'd gotten, before nodding, still dumbstruck. "As you say."

Arcturus pretended not to notice her smile of relief, nor the overly loving way she was looking at him.

Those emotions made him...uneasy.

"Orion," Melania said, thought it came out as half a question. She elaborated at Arcturus's raised eyebrow. "I was reading a book on Black names when I went into labor. The one I liked best was Orion—I thought to bring it to you to see if you approved."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised that his slip of a wife had gathered the nerve to put forth a name herself. Orion...Yes, it was a good name. A strong name—The Hunter. One of the only good memories he had left of his father had been sitting in his study, asking him to point out all the names of the stars enchanted into the ceiling—Orion had always been his favorite.

"Orion Arcturus Black," Arcturus said, nodding in approval. "A good name, Melly. I approve."

Melania beamed—though she promptly grimaced.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" She nodded. "Not to worry—I'll find that fat old man and order him to give my wife as much pain potion as she damn well wants."

He gave her a kiss to the forehead. "She deserves it."

[rufousnmacska]

I have a lot of thoughts about A Court of Silver Flames, and since it helps me to write them out, I thought I’d share.

It’s behind a cut because SPOILERS and it’s long lol!

Nesta

I had expected we’d learn that Nesta had suffered some type of abuse or trauma as a child that Elain and Feyre were not aware of. I wasn’t expecting it to be so subtle, for lack of a better word. Abuse comes in a lot of forms, which I think SJM is good at showing. Emotionally manipulating your daughter for power, ignoring her in favor of your business and money … those may not be as visible as physical or verbal abuse, but they still cause damage.

I’m not sure how to convey it properly, but I thought it was important to show how the parts of her that were born from the abuse and trauma, while dark or not always healthy, were still useful. The wolf she became to survive her childhood helped her survive the cauldron. Not being able to “turn it off” is what hurt her. My favorite quote:

“So Nesta had become a wolf. Armed herself with invisible teeth and claws, and learned to strike faster, deeper, more lethally. Had relished it. But when the time came to put away the wolf, she’d found it had devoured her too.”

And as Amren said later “That’s the key isn’t it? To know the darkness will always remain, but how you choose to face it, handle it … that’s the important part. To not let it consume. To focus on the good, the things that fill you with wonder.”

I’ve seen a lot of fans upset that Nesta gave up her cauldron powers at the end to save Feyre and the baby. Although I’d initially hoped (post acofas) that her training would be more about her magic than physical training, I’m okay with how it worked out. She never wanted that power and she never liked having it. She stole it as revenge and she fought constantly to suppress it. Was she a badass when she wielded it? Absolutely! But ultimately, her giving it back was the final big step in her healing arc and acceptance of herself. (That doesn’t mean she’s “cured.” This will be an ongoing battle for her. I only mean this in terms of the story in this book.)

She chose to sacrifice it, unlike so many other times in her life when things were forced on her or happened to her. Unlike the future her mother had set out for her. Unlike when they were poor and her father did nothing to get them through. Unlike when she was thrown into the cauldron and then a war. Even unlike when she was forced to move into the House of the Wind, and her apartment – the one place she had chosen for herself no matter how run down it was – got demolished. I’m not going to go into the intervention too much. It was poorly done, but I doubt any of them had experience in doing one. A conversation acknowledging that might have been nice. And I’m not ignoring Feyre and Rhys’s hypocrisy of Nesta being confined to a place where she effectively had no way to leave on her own. The stairway at that point was not an option. But the bottom line is that Nesta needed help and was not in a position to willingly accept it or seek it out.

Regardless, she is still a lethal badass. She still has some of her powers, along with her fighting skills, which will only get better and better. So, the idea that she gave up what made her strong, or ended up as some meek housewife …  I don’t agree with that at all. She has the intelligence and potential to become a force in leading armies. Not to mention her skill as an emissary. (Which Cassian finally learned how to imitate lol!)

On a personal note, I’m intimately familiar with the depression and self-loathing Nesta experienced in this book. Although I don’t necessarily react to those feelings in the same ways or exhibit the same coping mechanisms (I tend to turn my anger inward rather than outward), I could still relate to her journey. Her stubbornness and feelings that she didn’t deserve love or anything good or kind were presented accurately in my opinion. Parts were hard for me to read because of that. But I loved that she was able to make her way through the pain and finally begin to accept and love herself. And I especially loved that she was helped not only by Cassian, but by her friendship with Emerie and Gwyn.

And the House! Holy shit. The magic houses in this world piss me off to no end because they are not real and I will forever need to clean my own place LOL! Her relationship with the house was beautiful and funny and I love that she Made it! She needed a friend, someone to understand her, not only what she wanted but what she needed, and boom! The House of the Wind came alive for her.

So, overall, I loved Nesta’s journey. I’m happy she ended in a place that brought her inner peace and the ability to better deal with her problems in the future.

 Nessian

I loved them before this book and I love them more after. The smut was a little shocking at first lol but I’ve read the Black Dagger Brotherhood books, which SJM loves, so really, it wasn’t that out there. I loved that Cassian showed that even with the mating bond, he could give Nesta space and freedom. In that respect, their relationship felt more mature to me than feysand. Their banter and the sexual tension was great! (The book is about a book.) They had some not great moments, as they have in past books. But those were realistic. People argue and say things they regret. But they also talk through it and apologize. This is a good time to point out – NOT ALL APOLOGIES INVOLVE EXPLICITLY SAYING I AM SORRY. There are other ways to show remorse and ask for forgiveness.

I don’t know if I had one favorite moment as there were quite a few. I think the most emotional for me was when they reached the lake. I know firsthand how difficult it is to speak aloud the things Nesta said. And I am also lucky to have people in my life who responded the way Cassian did – with love and support and kindness.

The nightmare scene, the prison scene, the dancing, the mating bond, Cassian turning the knife on himself … I loved them all!

The Valkyries

I fucking loved them! Gwyn and Emerie were absolute delights and I’m so glad Nesta made good friends of her own who she could be herself with. Their bonding over books, training, and their pasts was wonderful. Nesta urging them on and defending them from the Illyrians in the Blood Rite was a beautiful step in her healing. Before this book, I was hesitant about the foreshadowing that Nesta would take part in the Rite, fearing it would become some sort of white savior trope to help the female Illyrians. But I enjoyed the way it ended up happening. I know it seemed unrealistic for Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn to get that far against warriors who’d been training for years. But part of the point was the males were arrogant as fuck. They underestimated the trio, to their detriment. Nesta and her friends used cunning as much as strength and skill to get where they did.

And I loved the image of Emerie and Gwyn just sitting back, sipping tea and admiring the river after going through a week of pure hell and winning the Blood Rite.

I hope we get more of them all together in the next books.

ETA - I can’t believe I forgot! Gwyn writing their story because their stories deserve to be told 🥲💕

The sisters

Overall I liked how things turned out with them.

Elain is still a bit of a non-entity to me. I don’t feel like I really know anything about her. Which, to some extent, is the point I think. There will be a lot to reveal in her story and she has a shitload of healing to do. She may have the appearance of adjusting and fitting in, but I don’t buy it. Nesta telling Elain to fuck off was awesome and long overdue. But Elain was also right in pointing out how others treat her and the trauma she’s experienced. I think there is still more to be dealt with between these two in the next book.

Feyre and Nesta were the more interesting relationship to me. The eldest and the youngest tend to butt heads in my opinion (and personal experience). So I was glad they came to an understanding. And very glad that Feyre did not get angry with Nesta for telling her about the baby. Rhys deserved the wrath for that.

One thing I would have liked to see discussed was the role of their parents in their lives. Nesta holds a lot of guilt for how she reacted to their poverty and I think that is understandable. I think Elain does too. However, I do not think any of the sisters should harbor blame for what happened. Their father was responsible for them. Period. Even if he was physically unable to work or help around the house, he still could have been a father. Yes, Feyre stepped up and fed them. Nesta and Elain didn’t help. It was his role to make them. Not in an abusive way. But step up and tell Nesta and Elain to do something, whether it’s chop wood or gather food from the wild. I don’t know. In my opinion, it is wrong to place blame on young girls who had a parent that did nothing. His actions in acowar were noble, but they don’t erase his failures. That all of this was glossed over disappointed me. I think this was something Nesta needed to be told explicitly by both her sisters. She had things to apologize for and feel guilt for, but she was not the one who should have protected Feyre. All three of them should have been protected by their father.

 The Inner Circle

It’s kind of funny to me how blind they all are about each other. I don’t even know what else to say about their dysfunction.

Amren’s sudden desire for Rhys to become High King was weird, and though I should know better, I still really hope the series doesn’t end that way. The IC tends to have good intentions about things, but I don’t think they know how to handle a problem without some kind of force. And controlling all the other courts is not something that would happen easily, especially with perceived allies.

Amren and Mor thinking Nesta belonged or should be sent to the Court of Nightmares was a spectacularly shitty take. The lack of awareness and acknowledgement that Nesta was suffering from multiple traumas was just … unbelievable.

But considering how much this group does not see about each other, I guess it’s not a surprise. I don’t know how much is willful ignorance or just really, really poor people skills. I understand how this all makes for good angst and drama, I really do. But I’m just at the point where it’s grating. They need to sit the fuck down and talk to each other. It’s been five hundred years for fucks sake. 🤦🏻‍♀️😂

Rhys

Okay. I liked Rhys in acotar and acomaf. But the sparkly exterior wore off big time for me in acowar and acofas. I honestly could have done without him in this book. But I wasn’t foolish enough to expect him to not be in it. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that SJM has her favorites and Rhys is at the top of the list.

Having said that, he annoyed the shit out of me in this book. Someone really needs to explain to him that a choice between two awful things, one of which might be deadly, is not really a choice. I don’t have the energy for it, but better writers than me could write a thesis on the illusion of choice in these books. Which is, in my opinion, pretty clearly tied to the brand of feminism presented.

Not only is the choice given to Nesta at the beginning not a choice, Rhys doesn’t seem to consider Elain at all in his argument with Az. All other issues with that bonus chapter aside, he saw them. He saw the mutual attraction and consent. What happened to not forcing females to accept the mating bond? What happened to respecting her choice and autonomy? I considered the possibility that maybe since he knows Az, there’s a reason he thinks they wouldn’t work. But then, that pretty much flies out the window by him asking Az about Mor. Sure, Az is still hung up on Mor, but she is pretty fucking clear about her opinion.

The whole thing about not telling Feyre about the risky childbirth was awful. And not that I would expect it to happen, but not even mentioning abortion as an option was frustrating. That plot line was not good in any way. There were plenty of other things that could have gone wrong with the birth to push Nesta to act at the end. To be honest, the feysand dynamic is not great. While I appreciated her standing up to him about Nesta and other things, he very deliberately uses sex as a distraction to get out of arguments. Yet another way he never really seems to suffer consequences of bad behavior.  

I will say I was really glad he got the opportunity to experience the full trauma of what Nesta went through. And my petty ass loved him kneeling before her at the end!

Miscellaneous

Where was Illyria?? My one serious expectation for this book was that we’d learn more about Illyria and deal with the revolution that was hyped up in acofas. To be written off in one paragraph was disappointing. It makes me think that if we are to ever get more details about the Illyrians, it might be in Az’s story. It was mentioned a few times that he hates them (with good reason) and would wipe them off the map if it was up to him. So I’m guessing his arc will require him coming to terms with that.

Elriel-Elucien-Gwynriel

I’ve never been super invested in this story line but I admit I’ve leaned more towards Elriel in the past. Partly because I like some of the complementary symbolism associated with them, but mostly because I’d really like to see a story about rejection of the mating bond. Even with the extra chapters, I feel like we still don’t know much of anything about who Elain truly is. And the same can be said of Az. So, those chapters didn’t sway me that much. With the exception of Az interacting with Gwyn. I agree with a lot of others saying Az has a lot of work to do on himself before he can be with anyone. I think Elain and Gwyn also have a lot of healing to do. SJM can take this in so many directions that I just don’t know what to think.

I will say that originally I was expecting the next book to involve a love square of Elain, Az, Lucien, and Vassa, because I did see a connection between the last two. But now … Was Lucien annoyed by Jurian and Vassa because he’s jealous? Just annoyed? I don’t know. I still think Vassa will be in the next books if only because of Koschei. But I’m not so sure about her involvement with Lucien. I think we’ve got enough people in this love polygon lol! Jesus, what a mess. But maximum angst 😂

[ggukcangetit]

Chocolates & Laundry Do Not Mix - JJK fic

title: Chocolates & Laundry Do Not Mix [Prequel to Crime & Punishment]

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: PG 13

warnings: language, y/n uses a pillow to deal with her frustration, not much else?

word count: 3.5k

summary: when your best friend, Namjoon, asks if a junior from his business ventures class can live with you till his lease comes through, you don’t think much about it. But one month with Jeon Jungkook proves to be extremely difficult because of how little the boy says but how much he seems to topple over without much effort.

a/n: this is the first fic for jungkook’s birthday! happy birthday to the bestest, most lovely, wonderful, soft-hearted boy out there. we love you, koo! wishing you happiness always <3

Before Jungkook

Namjoon is a great guy. He’s smart, funny, considerate, thoughtful, kind, and definitely one of the best looking guys out there. You love him, you really do. But there are times when you wish you could roundhouse kick his dimpled ass out of the window. And this would be one of those moments. 

“It’ll only be for a couple of months, y/n.” Namjoon sat down on the grass, his long legs stretching out in front of him. Seokjin reached over you and handed him the last neatly packed chicken wrap he had brought. “The lease at his old place ran out last week, and the place he’s going to move to doesn’t allow tenants before August. You’re the only one of us who currently doesn’t have a roommate.”

You frowned, the wonderfully seasoned chicken inside Seokjin’s wrap not really registering in your system. “Seokjin can’t?”

“You do know that I just graduated and will be moving to a different city in a couple of days, right?” He shot you a look and promptly flopped onto the grass dramatically.

“What about Yoongi?” 

“He’s moved in with his girlfriend.” Namjoon quirked an eyebrow. “Do you not read any of the messages in the group chat?”

“Jimin? Hobi?” You were desperate at this point.

“Hobi lives with me. And Jimin lives with Taehyung right now. But the two of them are planning to move into a new apartment before classes start in the fall and Jungkook will be staying with them after that! So what do you say?” Namjoon stared at you expectantly. “Can Jungkook crash at your place for the summer?”

If it were up to you, some random junior from Namjoon’s business class would not be crashing at your modest apartment while you slaved your ass off working part-time so that your job prospects would be minutely better at the time of graduation. But then - you stared at Namjoon’s inquiring gaze and Seokjin’s knowing eyebrow raise - it was never really up to you, was it? No. Somehow, all decisions in your friend group had become a matter of collective responsibility. Yoongi wants to buy a new sound system? Well, it must be compatible with the latest AR gaming technology so that Seokjin can come over and use it whenever he wants. Hobi’s ordering a designer jacket for his birthday? It can’t be orange because Jimin wouldn’t be caught dead wearing orange. 

And the list goes on…

What it ultimately came down to was that Jungkook would be staying at your place over the summer. If you said no, your friends would definitely understand… But you would feel like a piece of shit for the rest of the year. So-

“Thanks for letting me stay here, y/n.” Jungkook wasn’t what you had expected. Although you had received very contrasting, even conflicting, descriptions of him from your friends.

“He’s a shy guy,” Namjoon said while walking his bike out of the university courtyard. “Doesn’t speak to a lot of people easily.”

Seokjin, naturally, had said something completely different. “He’s the toughest guy I know. Dude could easily bench press us all at the same time.”

That had left you a little worried so, of course, you decided to speak to Hobi. “Jungkook? Haha! That guy’s really something else! He barely sleeps at night because he’s playing video games! And he’s a snack monster!”

Your mind immediately went to the basket of snacks you kept at your apartment. There was no way this guy would touch your stuff, right?

“Jungkook’s a total prankster!” Jimin giggled while sipping his iced tea. “You should see the stuff he and Tae get up to sometimes!”

“It’s no big deal.” Your reply lacked the minimal amount of enthusiasm required to not be considered a big deal, though. If Jungkook picked up on that, he didn’t say anything.

Week 1 with Jungkook

The first couple of days went by without any issues. He seemed like a quiet guy who kept to himself - so far Namjoon’s description had been the most accurate - and you supposed two months with him around wouldn’t be terrible.

That’s where you were sorely mistaken. Suddenly, you found the fridge full of banana milk cartons - not a few bottles, mind you, but a few cartons of banana milk. Every single cupboard in the kitchen was now stuffed with protein supplements, low carb snacks, and the entire country’s supply of instant ramen. Now, you didn’t have anything against instant ramen per se - heck, you really enjoyed the beauty of a quick delicious meal at the end of a long day - but this was pushing things a little. Because for every single instant ramen packet placed in the kitchen, something of yours had to be displaced rather dramatically.

For instance, you had woken up early one Tuesday morning, craving chocolate chip pancakes like nobody’s business. The chocolate chips were kept on the middle shelf of the third cupboard from the left - as they had been since you had moved in a year ago. You knew exactly where your things were placed and, having the unassailable confidence of an only child who has never had to share their space and now lives on their own as well, you opened the cupboard door without looking up. This was clearly not as smart a decision as you had imagined because a ton of instant ramen packets came cascading down on your head. 

Jungkook came rushing out of his bedroom, alarmed by the sound of loud and colourful cursing coming from the kitchen. “Is everything okay?!”

The look on your face was probably one Seokjin would have laughed at until he had tears in his eyes. But Jungkook, completely unacquainted with your temper and the peculiar things that set you off, looked like he had just found out that he was allergic to both banana and dairy. Actually, he looked more like Hobi the day he had come home to find Jimin and Taehyung working on the latter’s art project which had resulted in the most tragic paint spill on the most beautiful white carpet in the history of college roommate sagas. 

“Oh shit! The ramen- I’m so sorry, y/n!” Jungkook ran towards you to try and help. Unfortunately, he was both hesitant to physically check if you were okay and eager in his desire to make things alright, resulting in a collision which sent you hurtling towards the ground in what would have been an extremely nasty fall. To Jungkook’s credit, he had some insanely rapid reflexes and managed to catch you before you hit the tiled floor and cracked your skull open. 

There was a brief moment between when he wrapped his arm around your waist and when your brows furrowed in annoyance, where you caught a whiff of his apple-scented shampoo and noticed the tiny mole on the bridge of his nose. 

Cute.

You wriggled out of his hold and fixed him with a look that, hopefully, conveyed that you were supremely displeased with his ramen placement without actually having to tell him off. 

“S-sorry about that.” The look had done its job. Jungkook quickly gathered up the fallen ramen packets and stuffed them into the nearest drawer - which then could not be closed.

“How much ramen do you have…?” Your annoyance was replaced with sheer curiosity at this point.

“Oh, uh… I won a gaming contest and the first prize was a year’s worth of instant ramen.” He scratched the back of his neck self-consciously, cheeks turning pink in embarrassment.

You sighed. “Come on, let me show you the extra storage space behind the shoe cupboard.”

Week 2 with Jungkook

Jungkook wasn’t a loud and inconsiderate roommate. In fact, after the ramen debacle of the first week, he had been coexisting with you quite beautifully. Sometimes you would cook dinner, curse at the fact that you had to cook dinner, and then secretly cherish the absolute delight on Jungkook’s face as he ate the dinner you had cooked. Other times, he would tap into his self-proclaimed noodle know-how and whip up some sort of deluxe instant ramen dish, which always turned out to be heavenly and it was all you could do to stop yourself from moaning in pleasure while you both slurped the noodles.

Then, of course, were the times when you ordered takeout, and somehow attracted all the ravenous souls present on the group chat. It didn’t matter whether it was sushi or tacos or fried chicken or pizza or chinese or even a batch of mini donuts from the tiny shop opposite your apartment - all six of them invariably came knocking a few minutes before the food was delivered.

“Gguk, how’s the summer internship going?” Yoongi was holding his third slice of pizza, sitting on the floor with his legs spread haphazardly. This was one of the rare times when he had dropped by for a random friday hangout - his friday nights were usually reserved for his girlfriend. 

Jungkook looked up from the game he had been playing with Taehyung and Seokjin. “Oh, it’s fine. The usual internship bullshit.” He let out a small winner as his car flew past the others just before the finish line.

“This damn game is rigged,” muttered Seokjin. “How come nobody but Jungkook ever wins?”

“That’s because you suck, Jin!” Jungkook ducked out of the way as Seokjin reached out to punch him. “Face it, racing games aren’t your thing.”

At the other end of the room, Hobi was dozing off at the dining table while Jimin and Namjoon played their 9th game of Go Fish. Yoongi bit into the pizza and motioned Taehyung to get him a beer from the fridge. 

“We should go clubbing.” Taehyung’s impulsive and, frankly, terrible ideas were usually a result of a three-game losing streak. If there was anyone who hated losing more than Seokjin, it was the raven haired guy with soft curls falling on his forehead, staring at all of you with his piercing gaze.

“I’m exhausted. I had classes from 9-7 today,” said Namjoon, waving his hand dismissively.

“I work on Saturdays, Tae. You know that.” Seokjin got up and stretched his arms above his head. “I’m going to head out now.”

“The rest of us can go then.” Taehyung was nothing if not persistent. 

“Hobi’s passed out already. And Soya’s waiting for me at home. So I’m going to drop him and Joon at their place, and then head back myself.”

These negative responses did nothing to deter Taehyung’s determination to go clubbing, which meant that you found yourself smooshed into the back of an uber with Taehyung and Jungkook as Jimin sat shotgun. Not only did you absolutely hate clubbing, but the fact that both Jungkook and Taehyung were very well-built, muscular guys, meant that you basically had one butt cheek of space to sit on.

“You okay?” asked Jungkook, before the four of you walked into the club.

“My left butt cheek is asleep, but otherwise all good.” He giggled at your response, gently laying a hand on your back so that you wouldn’t be separated from the group.

An hour later, you were completely certain of three things.

First off, there was nothing in the world that could make you enjoy clubbing. Not the location, not the music, and not the people you were with. Secondly, the three boys you were with not only had devastating good looks, but also managed to shake up the club with their crowd-pulling dances. Jimin’s style relied heavily on his seductive hip movements while Taehyung was destroying everyone with his smoldering expressions. Jungkook, meanwhile, was running completely on an adrenaline rush, and matched Jimin and Taehyung move for move, adding a sexy amount of aggression to the dances as well.

And finally, Jungkook, despite his muscles and dancing and adrenaline, liked to cuddle when he was extremely exhausted and had someone in his vicinity. That someone happened to be you that night as you came back to the sofa to find him curled up into a ball, his mouth slightly open as he slept peacefully. Your mistake was trying to place a blanket on top of him because you soon found yourself being pulled into his embrace as you became Jungkook’s personal cuddle pillow. You could say that you struggled for a long time, trying to break out of his grasp but he was just too strong for you, so you eventually gave up and fell asleep while cuddling with him on the sofa.

But then you would be lying. 

Week 3 with Jungkook 

Not that you would ever admit it, but Jungkook had a very pert bottom. As bottoms go, his was definitely somewhere in the top tier. The general consensus on campus was that Jimin and Taehyung were the usual contestants in the battle of the first-rate bottoms. But those of the general consensus had clearly never seen Jungkook in skin-tight jeans, kneeling on the floor while trying to reach for the remote that had fallen under the sofa. 

“You’re zoning out again!” Seokjin was seated opposite you and snapped his fingers in front of your face. “You know I hate being ignored, y/n.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you…” Your cheeks colored as you tried to rid your mind of the images of Jungkook from that morning, reaching for the highest shelf and flashing a beautiful strip of impeccably shaped abs.

“Tell me you aren’t daydreaming about Jungkook’s ass.”

“I am not daydreaming about Jungkook’s a-” You closed your mouth quickly, slapping Seokjin’s arm for good measure. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Work’s so boring and you’re so predictably entertaining, y/n,” he grinned and bit into the chocolate cupcake in front of him. “I miss seeing you everyday.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you grumbled.

“Nah, but seriously, Jungkook’s a solid guy - pun completely intended.” You rolled your eyes as he snickered at his joke. “You two would be good together.”

“You’re well aware of my stance on people setting me up, right?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“No one’s setting you up. I’m just saying -” Seokjin popped the remaining half of the cupcake into his mouth - “if there’s potential, you shouldn’t stop yourself.”

Unfortunately, any potential that may have been present, completely fizzled out when you got home that afternoon. You had made one thing perfectly clear the day that Jungkook had moved in with his stuff - your snack supply was completely off-limits. Yet here you were, staring at a near empty basket while Jungkook lounged on the sofa with chocolatey fingers and an empty chips packet lying on the table. 

Pert bottoms definitely did not trump snack supplies - as Jungkook found out the hard way when a pillow came crashing down on him with the wrath of all your ancestors combined.

“Y/n! What the fuck?!” he yelped, ducking from your well-aimed blows.

“My snacks! They’re off limits! Asshole!” You punctuated each word with a smack of your pillow.

“Stop! Stop!” He grabbed the pillow from your hands and threw it as far as he could. “I’m sorry! I was really hungry and there wasn’t anything else at home!”

His stupid big doe eyes were just too damn sincere and you felt yourself deflating and sinking into the sofa. After making sure that you wouldn’t attack him again, Jungkook sat down beside you, nudging you softly with his shoulder. “I was going to go to the asian store once they open in the evening. Do you want to come with and help me replenish the snack supply?”

You huffed in annoyance but gradually rested your head on his shoulder. Jungkook had lived with you long enough to know that that was a yes.

Week 4 with Jungkook

Choosing movies to watch over dinner was always something you struggled with. Not when you were alone. No, you knew exactly what you wanted to watch. Your Netflix suggestions were appropriately lined up with crime dramas and sci-fi thrillers. It was only when there was someone else watching with you that the situation became contentious. Namjoon had a penchant for documentaries, and Hobi and Jimin liked watching musicals. Seokjin refused to watch anything even remotely close to a horror film, and Yoongi and Taehyung always voted for heavy art films. And Jungkook-

“I am not watching Titanic.” You settled into the sofa with your bowl of pasta, reaching forward to grab the soda can on the table.

“Come on, y/n! It’s a classic!” Jungkook whined. You had realised that the boy whined a lot over little things like movie selections and waking up before 8 am. “A tragic tale of true love.”

You snorted into your food. “True love would’ve been if they’d both survived.”

“You’re so cold.” There it was, the infamous Jeon Jungkook pout. It didn’t make an appearance often, but when it did, you found yourself growing weaker and much more likely to give in to whatever stupid thing he wanted.

“Fine. Put it on. But don’t blame me when I end up scrolling through Instagram the entire time.”

“I won’t,” he grinned and sat down next to you. The sofa dipped considerably and you found yourself sliding towards him involuntarily. It wasn’t that this position was uncomfortable - you were actually really fond of unwitting physical contact with your friends. The only problem was the way your heartbeat quickened every time the unwitting contact was with Jungkook. 

By the time the movie was over, Jungkook’s nose was running. It was no secret that he cried during sad movies but you still loved teasing him about how easily characters brought him to tears.

“Damn, look at you crying over Jack and Rose. They’re just fictional characters and Rose didn’t even die! What would you do if I was in their place? Would you cry over me too, Gguk?” You nudged his shoulder playfully.

“No.” His reply was firm and you wondered if he had been offended this time.

“No? Why not?”

“I’d never let that happen to you.”

You could safely say that you had never bolted to the bathroom as quickly as that moment, splashing your cheeks with cold water to bring down the flush.

This wasn’t the only time Jungkook had left you completely speechless, however. He ordered takeout much more than you did, not having time to cook much because of his internship. And his takeout orders usually consisted of either pizza or fried chicken. On most days, you were done with dinner by the time he got home and ordered takeout.

On one such day, you looked up from the spreadsheet you had been working on, your stomach clearly unsatisfied with the grilled cheese sandwich you had eaten a couple of hours ago. Making your way to the kitchen, you rummaged through the contents of the fridge, huffing in annoyance as you found nothing suitable for your current hunger-related dilemma.

“Do you want pizza? I’ve finished but there are a couple of slices left.” Jungkook pushed the box towards you and turned his attention back to his phone. It was a veggie supreme - something that Jungkook always ordered.

“How come there aren’t any olives?” you asked, knowing that that particular pizza store always put olives on their veggie pizzas.

“I asked them to take out the olives.”

“Why? I thought you loved olives.”

“I do. But you don’t eat olives.”

Your mouth hung open for a moment. “But you ordered the pizza for yourself…”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want the olives to stop you in case you wanted to have a slice.”

He hadn’t looked up during the entire conversation but you could see the way his cheeks turned pink and how he kept tugging at his ear. You, yourself, felt your heart soar and bit into a slice of pizza - trying to stop the shit-eating grin from spreading on your face.

After Jungkook

It turned out that Jungkook didn’t need to stay at your place for more than a month. Jimin and Taehyung had somehow convinced their landlord to allow them to move in a month ahead of the designated move-in date, which meant that you were once again living alone. 

It was weird. There was a lot of space in your cupboards once again and the fridge didn’t always smell of chocolate shakes and overripe bananas. You were also free to choose whatever movie you wanted to watch with dinner. But something still felt amiss…

You sighed and reached for your basket of snacks, frowning as your fingers swiped at thin air. Your eyes widened as you glanced at your previously well-stocked supply of snacks, noting the distinct lack of at least 75% percent of its contents.

“JEON JUNGKOOK!”

please leave a comment if you enjoyed this story!  tagging @holynamtiddies​ , @hauntedlilies​

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 4

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE NEXT MORNING

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

“...His eyes burned bright with the heat of Muspelheim itself...” Eivor whispered in fascination, repeating the seeress’ prediction under his breath. At the moment, he was lying in bed after waking up from a long night of vivid dreams and visions, mindlessly tracing a series of words in the air above him as he conjured a poem about his new friend.

“I wish you could’ve met him, father.” He thought aloud. “He was... unlike any other man I’ve ever laid eyes upon. A warrior’s hugr entrapped within the shell of a human, kindled by the heart of a benevolent spirit. His unyielding gaze holding you in place as the songs of those long lost flutter from his lips. A man who seems to be from this world, and yet, beholds it with the look of an outsider.”

Eivor rolled onto his side, staring at the charms sitting beside his bed as his hair spread out underneath him like a fan made of flaxen twine.

“...Was Sigurd the man Ingrida saw in her dream? He must have been. He matched her words exactly. But... how does the wolf fit into all this? Who does the beast represent? Who would try to harm him? And why?”

Part of Eivor suspected it could’ve even been himself that the seeress’ vision was trying to convey, considering his rather violent past with wolves, but... surely that couldn’t be right. Sigurd was to live among them as an ally in the future. What reason would he have to go against him? 

...No. It must’ve been someone else. Kjotve possibly? Or his son, Gorm? Eivor wasn’t sure anymore. And frankly, he didn’t want to think about it. 

So much was already clouding his mind with thoughts of impending war and death. Many of their people had fallen to Kjotve’s axe in the past decade, and he only hoped that this marriage would be the key to finally wiping him off the face of the earth. To think that Ingrida’s warning could become a reality... it was a concern that Eivor wished to push aside for the moment.

He had enough to worry about aside from the seeress’ visions, and he didn’t want to lend them anymore merit.

Tearing himself away from the bed’s soft embrace, Eivor finally decided to carry on with his day and slipped out from underneath the layers of pelts piled on top of him, reaching for his boots.

His eyelids sagged with a heavy sense of fatigue due to the restless night he had to endure, and he felt his body being weighed down by a strong desire to return to sleep. Despite his lack of energy however, Eivor couldn’t deny that he was curious to see whether or not he’d bump into Sigurd again.

The man seemed to operate on a tight schedule filled to the brim with royal duties, but Eivor was secretly hoping that he’d be able to catch him in between. He may have been restraining himself from taking things any further with Sigurd, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to spend more time with him.

He just hoped he wouldn’t come across as clingy. He already found himself feeling more attached to the prince than what was probably wise, and he didn’t even know if the man returned his affections. Sigurd claimed that he would’ve liked to see Eivor again, but even then, the younger man wanted to maintain a reasonable amount of distance between them.

The wedding was less than two weeks away, after all. If any of their plans happened to deteriorate before then, Eivor wasn’t sure they’d have any time to recuperate. Kjotve’s longships still threatened the borders of their seas despite their brewing alliance, and any distractions would’ve simply given them the opening they needed.

Eivor had to stay focused for both his sister and his clan. His current responsibilities consisted of nothing more than providing a reliable axe should the need for war arise, and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Stepping away from the limits of the longhouse, Eivor slowly made his way to the top of the hill that he frequented so often as Synin followed him from the skies above, accompanying him with no more than a distant shadow that slithered across the ground.

The morning air was crisp with a frigid breeze that pinched Eivor’s skin and reinforced the snow on Bjornheimr’s meadows, covering the land in a scintillating sea of white. 

Meanwhile, the sun stood proudly above the sleepy village and combatted the arctic environment with a gentle summer’s kiss, thawing the many icicles that dangled from the longhouse’s roof ever so slightly.

As for Eivor, the young man trekked through the icy weather with little to no issue thanks to his fur cloak and climbed the hill’s gradual incline, adapting quickly to its uneven terrain.

He may have been tired, but the frosty sensation of the morning’s touch managed to revitalize his mind, and stimulate him with a chilled gust. It reawakened the parts of his brain that stayed enveloped in a deep slumber, and filled his lungs with a piercing breath of fresh air that caused him to sigh in contentment.

What awaited him at the top of the hill however, surprised him more than anything else.

Sitting alone on the very same bench from the previous night, Eivor spotted Sigurd admiring the angelic daybreak in front of him as loose strands of his hair billowed softly in the breeze, dancing in unison with the fur on his cloak. 

His staunch figure had darkened into a silhouette due to the sun’s contrasting light, and his head remained bowed beneath his broad shoulders in a serene manner. 

He appeared to be completely at peace despite the gravity of his purpose in Bjornheimr, and basked in the golden rays that peeked over the horizon. He was completely motionless in the fjord’s presence, but seemed to travel freely with the stretches of his imagination.

Though, Eivor could only wonder whether Sigurd was here for the view, or for the man himself.

“Hello, Gunnar.” The younger man teased, making the prince throw a glance over his shoulder.

Sigurd’s expression instantly brightened at the sight of his new friend, and a light chuckle escaped his mouth. “Ah, hello, Eivor. It’s good to see you again.”

Eivor strolled towards the bench, gesturing to the nature in front of them.

“Come to enjoy the view?”

“Indeed,” Sigurd said, rising from his seat. “I just finished making an offering to Njord at your temple for our safe journey, and wished to see what it looked like during the day. I have to say, it’s just as beautiful as when you brought me here last night.”

Eivor leaned against a tree, crossing his arms in a casual fashion. “You stopped by the temple? Did you meet our seeress?”

Sigurd nodded. “Ingrida approached me, yes. She’s... enthralling, that woman. I have to admit, I’m not sure what to make of her yet. When she first reached out to me, she seemed... hesitant. Frightened, almost. A strange sense of recognition held onto her gaze, and she spoke as if she knew me. As if... she had seen me before.”

The younger man withheld his knowledge about Ingrida’s vision, uncertain of how Sigurd would react to it. “Is that so? What did she say?”

“Ingrida referred to me as ‘the one who walked with Tyr.’ She mentioned a wolf similar to Fenrir, and even brought up something about Freya’s collapse. I’m not entirely sure what she meant by those statements, but her wariness was quite plain.”

Eivor shrugged in confusion. “I’m afraid I’m as clueless as you are, but you’ll have to forgive her. Ingrida can be rather paranoid sometimes. Try not to take it personally.”

Sigurd furrowed his brow. “I’m more concerned than I am offended. Even though I’m aware that many people will dismiss seeresses these days, their instincts tend to be accurate. It just makes me wonder what the gods revealed to Ingrida to make her so cautious around me.”

“Well, you are a prince. Trouble has a habit of following royalty even if they don’t intend it.”

Sigurd let out a sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

The older man suddenly paused, giving his friend a tentative look as another subject crossed his mind. “I-I hope I’m not intruding on your daily routine, by the way. I know you come to this hill for solitude.”

Eivor shook his head, reassuring Sigurd with a welcoming smile. “You’re free to spend as much time here as you please. In fact, I’m happy to run into you again. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

Sigurd laughed. “Likewise.” 

“How did things go with your father, anyway? When you returned to him, I mean.”

The prince waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, about as well as you’d expect. He berated me for being improper and ‘making a fool of myself’ on our first day here. He quickly shooed me away from the feast and told me to find a change of clothes before getting anywhere near Randvi again. Overall though, he wasn’t as harsh as I expected. I think it’s because Arngeir was present.”

Eivor gazed downwards out of guilt. “I hope the king isn’t too angry with me.”

“Have no fear. My father doesn’t even know you were involved. As far as he’s concerned, I spilled that mead on myself. Dag didn’t say anything either.”

The younger man stared at Sigurd in gratitude, admittedly surprised that he would omit his name from their late-night shenanigans.

“That’s... very kind of you. Thank you.”

Sigurd grinned at him, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. “Well, you can repay me with a round of drinks some other time. For now though, let us simply put it behind us.”

The redheaded man turned his head towards the other end of the village and gazed into the nearby woods, bringing up a rather tempting proposal.

“Hey, Eivor. How would you like to join me for a ride?”

Eivor’s head perked up at that. “A ride? Now?”

Sigurd shrugged innocently. “Why not? My father wants to give our clan a chance to get everything in order before proceeding with this marriage, so I have the day off. I was going to explore the forests around the village on my own, but I’d love to have some company.”

“Where were you thinking of going?”

The prince pointed to a distant landmark. “The waterfall to the north. I caught a glimpse of it while I was at the temple, and I’d like to explore it some more. Care to come along?”

Eivor hesitated with his response, practically having to catch the words in his throat before they could leap out.

It was no question that he would’ve loved to accompany Sigurd on a quick jaunt throughout the woods, but he knew that such an interaction would’ve likely caused his feelings to swell even further. The man’s presence alone was enough to send Eivor into a frenzied state of infatuation, and he didn’t know if it would be wise to indulge in his endearment anymore.

But... he wondered if it would be possible to pursue a platonic relationship with Sigurd. It wouldn’t have been the first time Eivor was forced to stifle his feelings for someone, and it wasn’t as if they had a lot of time to get to know each other anyway.

He might have been interested in the man for now, but Eivor assumed his passion would soon vanish. Their gallivanting would only last for so long before the political troubles of Kjotve’s men rose again, and by then, the young man imagined his mind would’ve drifted onto other subjects already.

At least, that’s what he hoped would happen.

“Alright, Sigurd.” Eivor finally agreed. “I’ll join you.”

The prince smiled joyously. “Wonderful.” He began strolling away from the bench, walking past Eivor as he headed down the hill. “Come. Walk with me to the stables. We’ll take our leave from there.”

The other man followed suit and glanced upwards at Synin, beckoning her to glide along with them.

“I’m ready when you are.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

THE OUTSKIRTS OF BJORNHEIMR

Trotting calmly through the forest, Eivor and Sigurd rode alongside each other as they worked their way around the naked trees, leaving Bjornheimr’s noisy activity far behind them.

A multitude of snowflakes gently floated to the glistening ground around them and twinkled sporadically in the air, occasionally catching streaks of light in their icy clutch. Meanwhile, they swayed elegantly in the gale that blew in from beyond the barrier of trees, and adorned any surface that would hold onto them.

As for the wildlife in the woods, they seemed to be making an effort to avoid the pair of intruders traipsing through their home. They stuck to the shadows being cast by the nature surrounding them, and flitted erratically behind the bushes, causing their foliage to twitch with movement.

An orchestra of vibrant chirps could be heard singing throughout the space, and in the delicate rustling that filled the breeze, Eivor detected the sounds of animals yipping collectively, as if conversing with each other about the peculiar visitors wandering through their habitat.

It was a normal day in the woods like any other, and for that, Eivor was grateful.

“The nature you have here is breathtaking,” Sigurd remarked. “The gods were in high spirits when they created Bjornheimr.”

Eivor gazed at the trees lining the path, speaking contently. “They were, weren’t they? Sometimes I forget we’re still in Midgard when I see the beauty they’ve blessed us with.”

“Do you come out here often?”

The young man sighed. “Sadly, no. My duties keep me close to the village these days. Though, I used to spend a lot of time out here with my sister when I was younger. Thora and I would always hunt together in these woods.”

“Ah, yes,” Sigurd said in recognition. “I’ve met Thora as well. Your father introduced us at the feast. She... didn’t seem too fond of me.”

Eivor chuckled. “That’s how she is with everyone. She’s the oldest in our family, so she’s always been protective of me and Randvi. Don’t worry about it. She’ll come to trust you eventually.”

“I hope so. Animosity will provide little for us in times like these.”

Eivor quirked a curious brow at him. “And what of Ulfar? Have you met him yet?”

Sigurd nodded. “I have. He’s a mystery, that one. Hardly said a word to me, and yet, I feel like he spoke the most.”

The blond man paused at the observation. “Is that so? Hm. I knew Ulfar was quiet, but he’s never struck me as the standoffish type. Then again, he and I have known each other for years, so I’ve probably just forgotten how he is with strangers.”

“You two are close?”

“Indeed. Ulfar’s been in my life ever since Arngeir took me in. He was always there to fill the jarl’s absence when the man was occupied with other duties. He’s almost like a second father to me.”

Sigurd posed a question. “Is Ulfar from around here? I noticed a slight accent in his speech when we talked.”

“No,” Eivor explained. “He’s Saxon-born, but was raised by Norse parents after a viking raid destroyed his village.”

“Really? Well, it seems your clan is full of interesting people.”

Eivor snickered softly. “You don’t know the half of it. We have warriors, poets, hunters, thieves... every walk of life lives among us.”

 The prince smirked. “And which one are you?”

“Me? I... can’t say for sure if I’m being honest. I suppose you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

“A man never knows his own reputation, eh? I can understand that.”

Eivor threw the question back at him. “And what about you? You seemed to know your reputation pretty well when we spoke last night.”

“It’s difficult not to when you’re a prince. Everyone always has an opinion on how you should behave. How you should live. How you should think. Even this marriage wasn’t my idea.”

The other man couldn’t help but notice the hint of frustration in his voice. “It must get tiresome.”

Sigurd let out a defeated sigh. 

“It...” he fell silent for a second, struggling to get his thoughts in order, “...it does, yes. Make no mistake, I appreciate the privileges I have, but sometimes, I wish I didn’t have to live my life for others. I wish... I could just live freely; be my own man.”

He continued his train of thought. “I think that’s why I enjoy spending time with you, Eivor. Everyone else I’ve met so far has expected me to act in a certain way, but... not you. You judge me based on how I am, and not how you think I should be. Sometimes, that’s all I ask of someone.”

Sigurd cut himself off mid-sentence, withdrawing from his statement. “F-Forgive me. I did not mean to be so direct. I just...”

“I understand,” Eivor reassured him. “You bear a lot of weight on your shoulders. It must be difficult, especially in the midst of a war.”

“I suppose I should get used to it. After all, I’m going to be a king someday. It’s not like my situation is getting any easier. Better to come to terms with it now than wrestle with it later.”

Eivor raised a more personal question, admittedly somewhat hesitant to hear his friend’s thoughts.

“...Can I ask you something, Sigurd?”

“Of course.”

He quietened his tone, uncertain of the response he would receive. “Do you feel as though I’m pestering you?”

The prince took a moment to process his words, clearly confused by the sentiment. “Pestering me? No, of course not. I just said I enjoy spending time with you, did I not? Why would I think anything else?”

Eivor’s gaze fell to the ground. “It’s just... I feel like you should be riding through these woods with Randvi instead of me. You came here for her, after all. The whole purpose of your visit is to get closer to your betrothed. I worry that I’m wasting your time.”

Sigurd turned to his friend with a look of concern, quick to come to his defense. “Randvi and I have our entire lives ahead of us, Eivor. These first two weeks are merely the start of our marriage. There will plenty of time for us to get to know each other later. Do not fret. Your company is valued.”

“Well, I’m relieved to hear that. Still, I hope I’m not causing too much of a distraction from your duties. I know you said things have been stressful for the Raven Clan recently.”

“They have, which is why I appreciate you coming along with me. It would unwise for me to ignore my responsibilities, but even the strongest of men need to take a breath occasionally. We have more than enough war waiting for us beyond the horizon. We need not seek it out.”

Eivor found some comfort in his words. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“But enough of that,” Sigurd said, gesturing to the path in front of them. “We’ve reached the waterfall. Come. Let’s take a closer look.”

Tugging on the reins of his horse, Sigurd brought the steed to a steady halt before hopping off of its saddle and landing in the snow, causing his boots to sink through the thick surface.

Meanwhile, Eivor tailed the prince from behind and followed his lead, sticking close to him as the two of them approached the waterfall in the distance.

He recognized this place, despite not having visited it in a while. The locals often referred to this waterfall as the Tears of Ymir due to the strangely humanoid visage in the rock formations surrounding it. It rested on the edge of Bjornheimr’s outskirts and looked out into the open sea, guarding over its vast waters as if the giant himself were gazing upon his creation.

Meanwhile, a roaring cloud of mist clung onto the bottom of the falls’ foundation and merged into the sea below, creating an illusion that made Eivor feel as if he were standing on top of the world.

It was a glorious sight to behold, truly. Many of the landmarks near Bjornheimr were stunning on their own, but the waterfall had always been something else. It watched over the village from a pedestal of rocks and trees, and seemed to pacify the nature around it with a meditative aura. 

It was no wonder that Sigurd found himself drawn to it.

“The landscapes in this region never cease to amaze me,” the prince said in awe, stepping closer to the edge. “I wish I could stay here all day long. It feels so... disconnected from the chaos of our world. So peaceful. It truly is a luxury to have places like this near your home.”

Eivor joined him at the edge, losing himself in the majestic view.

“Indeed. It feels like a sanctuary created by the gods, hidden deep in the woods to protect it from the touch of mankind.”

Sigurd took a seat on the ground and let his legs dangle off the rock, gesturing to the mountains that dominated the horizon.

“You know, when I was a boy... I always used to have dreams about the mountains in this land. I would see a kingdom nestled in the depths of this world, constructed of architecture far beyond our understanding. There was a great tree that stood in the center of it. It was built out of iron and rock, and did not seem capable of breathing life like the ones you see here.”

Eivor sat beside the older man, intrigued by his tale. “A tree made of iron and rock? Can such a thing even exist?”

Sigurd shrugged. “Who knows? The nine realms are an impossible reality. If a tree such as Yggdrasil can exist, what makes an iron tree so implausible?”

The younger man grinned at the thought. “I suppose you’re right.”

The prince leaned back on his arms, relaxing in the snow. “What about you, Eivor? Have you ever had any dreams like that? Seen things that you just... couldn’t explain?”

Eivor nodded. “I have, actually. Ever since I was a child, I always dreamt of the Allfather.”

Sigurd raised a brow. “You’ve seen Odin in your sleep? Are you certain it’s not a vision?”

“It could be,” he conceded, “but nothing in the real world has ever reflected my dreams, so I’m not sure. Ingrida might disagree with me, though. She seems to believe that I carry the gods’ favor.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sigurd admitted. “After all, they call you the Wolf-Kissed, do they not? For the scar on your neck? Not just anyone can survive an attack like that. Someone was watching over you that day.”

Eivor humored the idea. “You think? I hope that’s the case. Otherwise, I see no reason why my parents had to die while I was able to survive.”

Sigurd’s tone grew gentle with empathy. “...Our world is laden with injustices. The gods must’ve spared you so that you could rectify your own.”

The younger man beamed at him. “Which is where you come in.”

His friend returned the expression with a smile. “My clan will not rest until Kjotve lies rotting in the ground, and our people know peace again. You have my word, Eivor.”

Falling into a profound silence, the two of them simply took the time to enjoy each other’s company as they lounged together on the edge of the cliff, listening to the soothing sound of rushing water barreling down into the space below.

By now, the sun had risen to a point where it appeared as if it was being cradled by the mountains’ peaks, and parted the ocean’s tides with a shimmering streak of light.

As for Sigurd, the man seemed to be in an entirely different world at the moment. His eyes traveled far beyond the corporeal edges of their realm, and his temperament remained unperturbed. His mind had broken free of any troubles that once restrained it, and if Eivor didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn that the man was subconsciously leaning closer to him.

He just wished he knew what Sigurd was thinking. The man had assured Eivor he wasn’t bothered by his company, but... the younger man wondered if there was anything else lingering in the back of the prince’s mind.

Did he share the same affections that Eivor harbored? Did he feel just as conflicted about everything as his companion? Did he feel drawn to him too? 

There were about a thousand different questions bouncing around Eivor’s thoughts, but he had no idea how to find an answer to any of them. He’d only known Sigurd for less than two days, after all. It wasn’t as if he could broach the subject without raising some level of awkwardness. 

Still, he wished there was some way to crack the shell Sigurd kept around himself. The man didn’t seem disingenuous necessarily, but it was clear that he was hiding his own secrets. It sounded as if his father often scolded him for speaking his mind, and thus, he had become reluctant to talk openly about his concerns. 

It was a shame, really. Eivor’s instincts told him that Sigurd was a man worth talking to, but he appeared to lock his thoughts in a cage that only a select few would be able to access. He had opened up a number of times already, but even then, Eivor found himself curious to learn more.

He just didn’t know how to break the wall between them.

“...Sigurd?” Eivor said timidly, tracing his finger through the snow. “Can I--”

The prince raised a silencing hand, jolting his head to the side in alarm. 

“--Wait.” He whispered. “Did you hear that?”

The blond man glanced around the environment, finding nothing of interest. “...No? What is it?”

Sigurd propped himself up from the ground and gripped the hilt of his sword, attentively scanning the woods for any movement.

“I thought I heard someone else talking,” he explained in a hushed tone. “It sounded like they were hiding in the woods.”

Eivor followed his line of sight and glared at the wall of trees standing behind them, steadily reaching for his axe as his gaze pierced through the shadows.

“Is someone there?” Sigurd called, returning to his feet. “Come out where we can see you. There’s no use in cowering.”

The two of them waited for a response, remaining completely still.

Leaping out from the nest of trees, a lone arrow suddenly flew towards Eivor and soared straight past his neck, planting itself in the ground behind him. 

Meanwhile, a series of footsteps shuffled around in the woods for a bit, and before they knew it, a pair of men had emerged from the darkness with swords in their hands, intent on slaying anything that moved.

“Shit...!” Eivor exclaimed, instantly recognizing their attire. “Kjotve’s men!”

Pouncing into battle, Sigurd and Eivor wasted no time in fending off the ambush and immediately started swinging their weapons about, clashing with the blades of their attackers.

Eivor swerved to the left in order to dodge another oncoming arrow and confronted one of the assailants on his own, leaving his companion to deal with the other. He deflected their blow with a quick bash of his axe, and swiftly ducked under a second swing before hurling his weapon into their gullet.

A stream of blood came squirting out from their throat following the counterattack, and within the blink of an eye, the man had fallen limp, gripping his neck to preserve a life that was no longer there.

As for the other man, he was still tangled in a fight with Sigurd and currently trying to plow through the prince’s adamant defenses, relentlessly delivering one blow after another. The redheaded man seemed to be holding up alright against the brute’s wild swings, but was clearly struggling to find an opening.

“Sigurd!” Eivor shouted over the commotion, sprinting towards him. “Hold on!”

Diving directly into the midst of the pandemonium, Eivor made a beeline for the gargantuan warrior and frantically searched for a weak point in his armor, raising his axe in preparation. 

Before he was able to provide any aid for Sigurd however, the man flicked his eyes in Eivor’s direction and slammed his sword downwards in a vertical slice, carving his blade straight through the smaller man’s cheekbone.

Eivor was sent flying backwards due to the incredible impact and landed harshly in the snow with a heavy thud, causing his weapon to slip from his grasp. Meanwhile, Sigurd finally found the opening he needed and promptly took advantage of it, immediately turning the tide of the battle.

He heaved his longsword in the air with a fatigued grunt and lined it up with the warrior’s head, practically dropping the blade into their skull while their attention was focused on Eivor.

The man’s limbs twitched sporadically once the weapon made contact with his scalp, and after a few moments of struggling to process what just happened, he collapsed to his knees, toppling over right next to where Eivor lay.

Sigurd let out a labored breath following the end of the fight, quickly switching back into a state of panic once he saw what had become of his friend.

“Eivor!” He blurted out, rushing to the man. He crouched down and cradled Eivor’s head in his hold, checking to see if he was still breathing.

“Eivor,” Sigurd repeated worriedly, shaking him slightly. “Are you still with me?”

The younger man forced his eyes open to a slit upon hearing the prince’s pleas and grinned, wincing at the immediate pain that stung his cheek.

“Oh, relax, your highness...” Eivor teased cordially, his voice straining with effort. “It’s... it’s nothing to worry about...”

Sigurd sighed in relief, his breath turning into mist once it departed from his lips. “By Odin’s beard... I feared he might’ve killed you for a moment there.”

“I’ve hurt myself worse trying to navigate the village after waking up from a drunken stupor. I’ll... be alright.”

The older man wasn’t ready to calm down just yet. “Well, I’m not willing to let my guard down until we get you back to Bjornheimr. There could be more people hiding in the woods.” Sigurd shook his head in anger. “Dammit...! Where did they come from? Do you think these men were scouts?”

Eivor brought himself to a sitting position, relying on Sigurd’s support to elevate himself.

“...P-Possibly, or they could be stragglers. Either way... we need to return to the village and let the jarl know what’s going on. I... I imagine your father will want to hear of this too.”

“First, let’s focus on tending to your wound,” the prince reminded him. “We should bring you to the seeress as soon as possible. It looks like the blade cut you pretty deep.”

Eivor held onto Sigurd’s arm, pulling himself back up to his feet. “Well, whatever we do... we need to get out of these woods. Idling out here isn’t going to do us any favors.”

“Agreed.”

The older man whistled for his horse, offering Eivor a helping hand once he noticed that his steed had fled.

“Come,” he instructed. “I’ll take you back to the village. We shouldn’t waste another minute in this forest.”

Eivor followed Sigurd’s actions, growing increasingly sluggish with every step he took. “...Thank you, Sigurd. I’m glad I had you by my side today.”

The prince climbed onto his mount and took hold of the reins, allowing Eivor to take a seat as the other man wrapped his arms around his waist.

“No. Thank you, Eivor. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.” Sigurd diverted his focus to the journey ahead of them, comforting his friend with some final words. The man may have pretended that he wasn’t affected, but Sigurd could tell that Eivor’s wound was draining his energy by the second.

“Hush now, drengr,” he soothed in a gentle voice. “Save your strength. I’ll take you back to Bjornheimr. Just rest now. You’ll be alright.”

[outbythehighwind]

Aerith & Tifa: Visual Design

An Analysis of the Final Fantasy VII Heroines [Part 1]

This is the first part of my in-depth analysis on FF7′s heroines, where they are depicted as perfect foils to one another. For those who don’t know, a foil is a character who contrasts with another and simultaneously highlights the qualities of that other character. Foils can range from protagonists & antagonists to, in the case of the FF7 girls, very close friends. In exploring this particular writing technique, I will examine their differences and similarities, friendship, relationships to Cloud and Sephiroth, and their differing but equally important roles as heroines in the overall story. Before starting though, I want to mention one thing: I adore both characters, and Tifa and Aerith are to me the exemplary role models of fictional heroines.

Now let us begin with the first thing we are introduced to: their visual designs. (Note that visual design, like narrative, is a tool that can be purposefully accurate and/or purposefully misleading. This should be kept in mind throughout the entire analysis, for FF7 - to no exaggeration - gets more than the average game's pleasure out of tricking, subverting and astonishing it's audience.) Now, onto our beloved flower girl...

AERITH

Aerith’s visual design, at first glance, is one of a meek and kindly girl. Her long, sleeveless dress, pearl pink in color, elicits an air of grace, of softness and serenity. She appears gentle and pure. These qualities are enhanced by the matching pink ribbon in her hair, which adds an additional purity to the character – one of youthful girliness, evoking a naive separation from the gigantic world around her.

Accompanying the dress and ribbon is a short sleeve crop jacket. And instead of enhancing this grace and naivety, its crimson shade shows quite the opposite. Red is a bold and brazen color. Coupled with the 90’s crop-style of the jacket, it enforces strength and vigilance. The loud (and somewhat rebellious) qualities of her jacket countervail the quiet elements of her dress and ribbon. They are a contrasting balance, as we will soon find out, of Aerith’s personality. She is gentle and pure, but she is no softie. She has complete confidence in herself.

These contrasting qualities are connected in the fact that red and pink are proximate colors. While the dress and jacket themselves are from two different worlds, the colors go together. Moreover, red and pink are the colors that represent love. Mixed together, they create ‘hot pink’ – a color used to communicate playfulness. A beautiful metaphor for both Aerith’s love for all life and her playful, sassy personality.

Moving on to her footwear, we find an even sharper contrast. One would expect that a person who so fashionably marries grace and strength would have stylish footwear to match. Yet here is Aerith with a pair of grimy, commonplace boots. While the dress, jacket and ribbon communicate her nature and personality, these grimy, commonplace boots inform the player of the life she is leading – the life of a girl who has grown up in the slums. These grimy, commonplace boots are the wise and fitting footwear to get by.

Aerith’s boots and hair are the same shade of brown, framing the vibrant personality her outfit presents. In addition to the bright, lively clothing, her hair is a standout feature of her character. And there is another character that shares this feature. Aerith’s trademark bangs share an almost-identical design to Sephiroth’s, an allusion to her in-every-sense enemy foil. Not only do the pair share similarities in their hair, but also in clothing: Sephiroth’s collar parallels Aerith’s jacket; his wrist-cuffs parallel Aerith’s bracelets; his cloak parallels the length of her dress; and his eyes – although mako-induced – are an even deeper green than Cloud’s, in direct match to Aerith’s.

Their bright green eyes further represent their foil-roles in relation to the external plot of FF7 – the plot concerned with the Planet. Aerith’s eyes are green with life, representing her connection with the Planet. Sephiroth, of course, holds a connection too, though his Mako-induced green is not his authentic color, portraying him as the false ‘savior’ he acclaims himself to be, in contrast to the true savior that is Aerith.

To see Aerith and Sephiroth’s designs as directly antithetical to one another, consider their concepts below, with Aerith’s weapon and hair trailing right while Sephiroth’s weapon and hair trails left – like a mirror image. Also, notice Aerith’s bright, vibrant design against Sephiroth’s dark, monochromatic design - a visual display of life and light against darkness. But more on Sephiroth later.

There is no FF7 character with a brighter visual design than Aerith – fittingly, for she is the party’s light. In the remake, her outfit is much the same, if not expanded upon. The jacket reaches her hips rather than waist, and the boots are black, yet about as commonplace as the original brown boots. The notable difference is her dress. The remake fits Aerith in a looser, frilly dress, which actually enhances her grace and creates a more deceptive air of naive youthfulness, much like the longer crop jacket further enhances her boldness.

TIFA

There are two roles incorporated into Tifa’s visual design: Tifa the barkeep; and Tifa the monk (that is, a martial artist of FF-verse). We will begin with the former, the first role introduced when the player meets her in Seventh Heaven.

Tifa’s barkeep design consists of black forearm sleeves matching a black skirt that is held up by suspenders. With her hair tucked behind her left ear, a teardrop earring is visible. Immediately, one gets the sense of warmness and invitation they would associate with a hostess. The skirt and suspenders appeal to the sensuous aspect of the design while the sleeve and earring give off an aura of classiness. Overall, an attraction is formed between Tifa and player – that sense of warmness and invitation drawing the player toward her. This attraction is enhanced by her long, dark hair and warm, wine-hued eyes. Not only is the color of Tifa’s eyes a clever nod to her literal bar-hosting, but it alludes to what her bar-hosting metaphorically symbolizes – a nurturing motherliness accentuated by their warmth. Not only is the player drawn in by the clothing she dons, but Tifa’s natural features are what inaugurates the invitation.

Next is the role of monk. Padded gloves and boots match the dark red shade of Tifa’s eyes, coupling her warmth and hospitality with strength. Strength and its associated qualities – firmness, power, intensity – are usually found in opposition to tenderness. But manifested in these items of clothing that are the same color as the defining embodiment of the latter (Tifa’s eyes), strength and tenderness are bridged together. Tifa is a fighter fueled by compassion. Tifa is a fighter who fights to protect. A matching dark red band ties the ends of her locks together to keep them collected, and on her left elbow and boot are armored guards, enhancing her aura of strength. Finally, she wears an ordinary white tank top for practicality in movement.

Put together with the elements of her bartender design, Tifa’s fighting gear gives her an unconventionally unique appearance: a smash-’em-if-required barkeep; a drink-serving monk. This overall appearance has an appropriate balance between allure and profession. It is attractive without being voluptuous. It is welcoming without hiding the fact that she could easily kick one’s ass if need be. And across her entire visual design, the two roles are in equilibrium. The player is drawn in to her design in the one sense, and then they are let in on what she is physically capable of. In other words, Tifa’s visual design uses its every component to give the player insight on her character. At the same time, however, it purposefully masks a great deal.

Accompanying this ‘smash-’em barkeep, drink-serving monk’ design so centered on conveying its dual-role aspects, are two items that educate the more observant player on Tifa’s circumstances. One of these has already been mentioned and is the classiest element of her design, while the other – which will likely go unnoticed – is the most ordinary. The former, Tifa’s aforementioned earring, is in the shape of a tear, subtly reflecting her past of sorrows and heartache. Yet it is her outfit’s grandest, most expensive item; this past of sorrows and heartache is what enabled her to become strong while remaining compassionate for others. Being a single teardrop on only one ear signifies how Tifa deals with emotions – the emotions she, as her name suggests, locks away in her heart. One drop for herself, the basic remembrance, the fuel, is all she outwardly allows.

Then we have the most ordinary item – a pair of woolly black socks. These socks are so subtle that even the exceptionally observant player might miss them, yet they are the single item that appeals to neither monk nor barkeep. They are distinctly… Tifa – Tifa the ordinary. Every other element is inch-perfect on what it communicates, yet here is a pair of ordinary socks that look as though they were thrown on in a morning’s rush. They give her this every-girl, neighborly quality which the player will be distracted from until the truth comes to light, with Tifa’s centrality and intimacy in the internal plot being revealed – the plot concerned with saving Cloud.

Speaking of literal neighborly vibes and intimacy, it is worth mentioning in brief that certain elements of Tifa’s outfit share similarity with Cloud’s. Both wear two metal guards only on their left side (Tifa on her elbow and boot and Cloud on his shoulder and wrist), a subtle allusion to their being ‘half’-selves on the surface (Cloud with his Zack-delusion and Tifa with her hidden feelings). Cloud too wears an earring in his left ear – a studded one, signifying, like Tifa’s teardrop, a certain brokenness of self. In Advent Children, both wear a black sleeveless vest with a high zip collar, a black cape, black boots (notice that Tifa has now replaced her trademark red) and a wolf symbol (on Cloud’s badge and Tifa’s ring) – a symbol associated specifically with Cloud. I mention these details because of Cloud’s centrality to Tifa’s story and vice versa, which will later be discussed in her role as heroine.

Tifa’s design for the remake is a nice though slight variation that fits in with the more realistic aesthetic. Her skirt has pleated segments, making for more realistic movements during combat, and her abs are toned, further enforcing her strength and perseverance in protecting her loved ones. Her black thigh-highs are an additional element, complimenting her forearm sleeves.

Despite the subtle, throw-‘em-on-in-a-hurry socks being foregone, Tifa’s remake outfit perfectly balances her barkeep and monk roles. The omission of such a neutralizing feature works even better with regard to Tifa’s character, in my opinion, for her true thoughts and feelings will be hidden for much of the game. Thus we are led astray, and the narrative will constantly push us further and further away from her inner emotions hidden beneath these two outward roles.

By visual design alone, and in the narrative that will follow, the player is led to believe Tifa has complete confidence in herself. But appearance of course, like narrative, can be deceiving.

SUMMARY

Straight away, by visual design, we have two heroines who are each a blend of multiple characteristics, yet not fitting a particular trope. They are completely unique in their own right, exemplifying both relatable and admirable traits.

Aerith, who we expect to be the meek and youthfully naive girl at first glance, embodies an undeniable self-confidence that compliments her kindness. Tifa, who looks extremely confident on appearance, has an emotional shyness masked by two bold outward roles. Aerith is the vibrant light who guides outer world adventure; Tifa is the inviting warmth who makes one feel at home. Aerith bridges the attributes of grace and toughness; Tifa balances the qualities of compassion and strength. While both exemplify these heroic traits by their very design, they are - however subtly shown - struggling slum girls.

[ladywindrunner]

Due to… whatever in god’s name Blizzard is doing, I’ve decided I’m officially making Sylvanas Windrunner canon-divergent. Do not get me wrong, Sylvanas will continue to be an absolute bitch and snake, but I’m no longer going to struggle to fit her into whatever unhinged supervillain Blizzard wants her to be.

From here on out, the verse The Dark Lady will follow the below historical timeline. I will of course update my page to reflect the divergence but – you’ve all been warned.

a very special thank you to @fatesblades @windrunnerrs & @lady-proudmoore for helping me sort through this clusterfuck of an expansion, and ensuring I kept the divergence accurate and straightforward. 

please look under the cut for the complete rewrite ❤︎ thank you all for your patience c:

QUICK FACTS:

Sylvanas would never agree or entertain any arrangement with the Jailer. She will never serve another, and that includes some random being in the Shadowlands. Her allegiance with the Horde irks her enough, but she suffers through it out convenience and need.

The Forsaken need allies, they do not need another death-dealing master who wishes to use them as a weapon.

(the only way Blizzard could salvage that plot is if she planned on betraying the Jailer, but it’s still… tired and urgh.)

She is absolutely a treacherous bitch and you should definitely not trust her (especially if you’re alive).

Sylvanas does not, and probably will never respect Anduin as a king. He’s nothing but a child leading nations. She would absolutely use his naivety and good nature against him.

She is a manipulator, and will never brazenly attack an enemy or insinuate herself in a plot unless said person is either someone she can trust (Nathanos) or she’s about to murder them (see: everyone else).

The Forsaken are her people, and she cares about their well-being. If she didn’t it would almost be as if the last years of content and character development meant fuck all for the sake of needing a villain (i’m not bitter, you’re bitter).

THE DARK LADY // A DEADLY BARGAIN (THE DEATH OF VOL’JIN)

Following the Battle for the Broken Shore, as Vol’jin struggles against his mortal wound and the insidious taint of Fel within him… “You do not honestly believe Baine will be beneficial for the Sin’dorei.” Sylvanas’ remark strikes a painful chord within the Regent-Lord, despite his mistrust of her intentions. He watches her with obvious suspicion.

If the Windrunner he knew still lingered in the woman before him, she’d long become impossible to glimpse.

“It does not surprise me you speak of treachery,” Lor’themar counters, eyes narrowed. “Do you remember nothing of loyalty, Banshee Queen?”

        Her smirk vile, as is the crimson glare of her dead eyes.

        “Do not play as if you care for the Tauren, Lor’themar,” she chuckles, “And I am not suggesting we kill Baine, I am simply bringing a far more agreeable solution to the forefront.”

        “Vol’jin will never name you,” Lor’themar scowls. He does not care for the troll, nor his obvious pick, but Sylvanas would be the very last name on the list. She was Queen of the Forsaken, a viper lurking in the tall grass.

        The Sin’dorei was having trouble recalling a soul she hadn’t betrayed.

        “Imagine if he were to pass with only a chosen few present,” she mused aloud, “Only those few would know which name he spoke…”

        “And what benefit do you bring to the Sin’dorei?” Lor’themar nearly snarled. He had not forgotten her aid in seeing his people into the Horde, but she’d been quick to use that against him.

        The comment annoys her; she gives him a piercing glare.

        “We’re at war, Lor’themar,” she snaps. Her tone lacks its ordinary taunting tone – it is flat with cruel fact. “Do tell me, who do you believe would lead the Horde to victory? Baine? He treasures peace more than sense. He would give ground when he should hold. Gallywix would sell us all for a single gold coin if it’d see his own life spared, and I imagine the Legion can offer him far more.”

        If Lor’themar agreed to the plan, she could sway Gallywix easily with payment. The very reason she didn’t wish for the goblin to be in charge, was also the best method of convincing the merchant lord to lie.

“And the last orc who led the Horde, led us into war, and is arguably responsible for the catastrophe we have now…” Sylvanas quirked a brow at the man, her smile returning, “So who does that leave? You?” She stifled half a chuckle, “a man who doesn’t even wish to lead his own people. You have the military sense, Lor’themar. You simply do not possess the ambition.”

        He glowered at her, “I would sooner lead the Horde than trust you to remember who came to your aid.”

        Windrunner said nothing for a moment, her smile growing slightly as she considered him. He’d grown wiser.

        “Pray-tell then Regent-Lord, what do you want in return?”

Vol’jin’s death came swiftly, the grievous wound causing the troll untold agony before he slips away (the speed would have been surprising to the three, if they hadn’t possessed the knowledge that foreign poison masked by the demonic influence, was raging through the Warchief’s veins). Sylvanas Windrunner, Gallywix, and Lor’themar Theron witness the man’s demise together.

His last decree as Warchief was to name Baine Bloodhoof to take his place.

        His final command would never reach the others, however. Their lies spun well, Sylvanas saw herself rise to become Warchief.

THE RECLUSIVE WARCHIEF // RECLAIMING THE GHOSTLANDS (POST-LEGION)

Peace is not something Sylvanas handles well. The idleness of it bothers her, but she is not foolish enough to think the Horde wishes to be dragged into another war (not one where the Horde is the aggressor). She tolerates the truce about as well as one can imagine. She is a more reclusive Warchief, she does not care for Orgrimmar, she’d rather spend her time with the Forsaken – who have extended a helping hand to the Sin’dorei in reclaiming the Ghostlands.

        A kind gesture, that some see as Sylvanas attempt to placate the more concerned members of the Horde leadership. Some see it as a welcomed change to her character, while others watch her with increased suspicion.

        It does help repair a fractured relationship between the Forsaken the Sin’dorei.

        An unintended, but welcomed happening while Windrunner keeps her word to Lor’themar.

A GLIMPSE OF PEACE // RECONCILIATION (BEFORE THE STORM)

Sylvanas does not support the meeting between the Forsaken and their living family. Following the catastrophic meeting between she and her two sisters, the Banshee Queen is firmly under the belief that it will lead to nothing but heartbreak and undue pain. The living cannot see past undeath, no matter what they claim.

        Receiving the missive from Anduin does nothing but irritate her. His good intentions are viewed by her as a form of manipulation, though she does entertain that he is simply naïve enough to believe that somehow the idea may work to heal old wounds.

        She permits the meeting to take place, and is not surprised to see Forsaken turned away by the living.

        She is taken aback when she witnesses other families accepting their undead companions. She watches in silence as her people find the peace that has eluded her for years.

        “My Queen,” Nathanos’ voice is hushed and careful. She has said nothing for some time, her expression is something unreadable. The crimson light behind her cool eyes has fizzled out, leaving nothing but grey.

        Sylvanas glances to her champion.

        The gaze is different.He does not recognize at first.

        Then he recalls what it is.

        Hurt.

        In that fleeting moment, she conveys how pained she was. The agony that reconciliation is possible, just not for her.       

        Sylvanas leaves the exchange, feigning disinterest.    

THE SUNDERING OF GILNEAS // THE WAR OF WOLVES (POST-BTS, APPROXIMATELY WHEN TELDRASSIL BURNED)

Yet the Warchief is not without her machinations. She schemes against her closest enemy, the one who ruined her attempts at subduing Eyir, while also discovering a way to bring back into the fold her wayward Forsaken who’ve gone to their living families.

        With peace looming, Sylvanas sets to work placing insurgents within Gilneas. Through them, the Banshee Queen ensures that it is Gilneas who broke the armistice. Witnesses on both sides saw Worgen soldiers attacking Forsaken troops.

        She calls for the Forsaken in Stormwind to return to Lordaeron, citing concerns over their safety as the Alliance has proven they are incapable of peace with the undead.

        Most return to the Horde, peace once again hanging by thread. They have no reason to believe they too have fallen prey to her cunning ruse.

        The peace broken, Sylvanas needs no other reason to march on Gilneas. Undead forces wait before Greymane gate, and in response the Gilneans prepare for war.

        But it is not the Forsaken who raze Gilneas. Sylvanas engages the enemy in frivolous skirmishes, biding her time until the orcish fleet reaches the shores of the enemy kingdom.

        The orcs sweep across Gilneas from the sea, while the Forsaken push inwards from the borders of Lordaeron.

        With nowhere to run, the stationed Alliance forces succumb to the combined might of the pincer strike. They simply cannot fight a war on two fronts, and it is not long before they collapse.

        Horde soldiers are careful not to cut down any man who surrenders, a specific instruction from their Warchief. A gesture seen as a mercy (while in reality, a convenient manipulation by the Banshee Queen, further implicating Gilneas as the aggressor, and that she is trying to be a worthy leader).

Gilneas is inducted into Lordaeron and becomes Forsaken territory. Prisoners are treated with some dignity. Only a handful are executed when they attempt a desperate escape that inevitably fails.

        Sylvanas wastes no time raising those who fought against her as Forsaken, swelling her numbers while the Horde celebrates a well fought victory.

A COLD WAR // TWO QUEENS OF A NATION (AROUND THE TIME OF THE SIEGE OF LORDAERON)

Peace returns, though in the form of a cold war. Relations between the Horde and Alliance are strained, but there is little evidence that anyone is going to break the peace. Sylvanas knows that Genn is biting at the bit for vengeance, and delights in the knowledge that eventually the old dog is going to shatter the truce on his own accord.

        She is careful to ensure the Forsaken think little of Calia Menethil (who has since revealed herself). Who is she to return now and call herself queen of anyone or anything? She uses propaganda so her people see it as Alliance mind-games.

        The Dark Lady watches over them, not a Menethil.

While she doesn’t care for the unforeseen irritation, at the moment she can do nothing about Calia without the assumption she is responsible for it.

        Sylvanas eventually trades the Alliance prisoners for Zul and Talanji. Always seeking allies, they are inducted into the Horde, but find themselves suffering through the delicate peace.

WHISPERS FROM BEYOND // THE SEIGE OF NAZJATAR (RISE OF AZSHARA)

        The Speaker of the Horde brings Sylvanas the infamous dagger Blade of the Black Empire, though they claim to have little recollection as to why. While a valuable object, it was not one that the Warchief was seeking out (and the lack of knowledge the Speaker possess, makes the Banshee Queen nervous). She was suspicious of the motivation of the individual who gave it to her, but took the offering despite the uncertainty.

        The struggling peace between the Alliance and the Horde is somehow sustaining itself (much to the annoyance of Sylvanas, who cannot break the peace openly). She permits the Forsaken to visit their families, though they must return for their own safety (having ample success in convincing her people the majority of the living are notto be trusted), and she does allow limited numbers of humans into Lordaeron to see their families.

        When the mysterious Empress Azshara contacts her, Sylvanas appears to cement an agreement that would see the Alliance decimated, clearing the way for the Horde to rise. Through some means Sylvanas cannot ascertain, the Queen of the Naga has become aware of her possession of Blade of the Black Empire.

        She agrees to meet Azshara, and keeps the meeting secret from all but her Champion Nathanos.

        Queen Azshara’s request is simple, Sylvanas gives her the dagger in exchange for something. Windrunner scoffs at the idea at first, refusing to part with such an item.

        “Surely you wish to do away with the Alliance pests,” Azshara cooed, smirking as she spotted the ever so subtle shift in the Banshee Queen’s form. Of course she was already aware of the answer. She’d spent a long time observing the surface world, ensuring she’d have every advantage. “And I wish to be rid of N’Zoth...”

        “I will not part with the dagger,” Sylvanas states, though she chuckles at the apparent impasse. “But perhaps there is an agreement to be made…”

        The arrangement was simple.

        Azshara would lure the Alliance fleet out into the ocean, and swallow it into her domain.

She would, of course, manipulate this to all appear as N’zoth’s bidding – the Old God was locked away in his failing prison. While his escape was inevitable (though potentially millennia away), he’d be none the wiser in believing Azshara discovered a method to release him.

        The Hero of the Alliance would wield the Heart of Azeroth to defeat Azshara and destroy the Old God for good. N’zoth posed such a threat that the High King would not lose an opportunity to strike at the nefarious enemy.

        With the Alliance none the wiser, Azshara would decimate their forces, using her imposing naga and sea-monsters to whittle away at their army.

        That is when the Horde, lead by Sylvanas, sweeps in to rescue whatever’s left of the Alliance.

        This would all be carefully planned of course, to ensure the Horde arrives too late to stop the Hero of the Alliance from unleashing the Heart of Azeroth’s power upon the prison.

        N’zoth’s jail will be flung open, and in that moment – Sylvanas will be the one to strike at the Old God and slay it.

        Azshara will feign being free of his influence, and slink away into the darkness of the sea. The Horde will appear as heroes.

        Unfortunately for Sylvanas, the plan goes awry.

        Azshara lures the Alliance out into the ocean and attacks. While she holds off their forces, she does not unleash her full might until the Horde arrives.

        The Horde’s fleet arrives earlier then intended due to Lor’themar Theron and Thalyssra’s efforts to speed up the ships and save more lives. Sylvanas finds herself unable to sabotage their efforts without risking her deal be exposed.

        Worse yet, it is only when they arrive that Azshara unleashes her full might. She absolutely decimates the Alliance and Horde, intent on slaughtering whoever stands in her way to obtain the blade.

The dagger comes to be possessed by the Naga Queen when she catches Sylvanas off-guard. The two women fight, but Sylvanas is forced to relinquish the knife when Azshara bests her with potent spells.

She’s spared, seeing herself mocked by the Empress and reminded to keep her mouth shut, otherwise everyone will know of their agreement.

        Thus it becomes a hasty rush to alert the Hero of the Alliance to the truth of the Heart of Azeroth’s purpose, but Sylvanas and her agents are too late.

        Her failure sees N’Zoth freed, though there is a satisfaction in seeing Azshara temporarily subdued.

THE TASTE OF FAILURE // THE PROMISE OF AN OLD GOD (VISIONS OF N’ZOTH)

With the Old God freed from his prison, it wasn’t long before N’Zoth began to corrupt the world. He sent visions into the minds of people, whispering of untold horrors that were near-to arriving.

        Not even Sylvanas Windrunner was immune to his insidious powers.

        The Horde’s pride, once bolstered by a number of strategic victories – is in tatters after Empress Azshara laid waste to them all.

Sylvanas withdraws to Lordaeron, locking herself away as she attempts to regain her footing after such a catastrophic failure. Her pride had seen her trust Azshara, a foolish move that cost her much of her power, despite leaders of the Horde thinking her notions of saving lives good and honourable.

With little option, the Horde and Alliance work together to fight against N’Zoth. The Banshee Queen does not enjoy being so reliant on the Alliance, but she endures the displeasure out of sheer necessity.

A Horrific Vision of Sylvanas Windrunner is present in Capital City in place of Thrall in Orgrimmar.

N’Zoth preyed on Sylvanas’ fear of death, twisting her mind until she believed only the Old God could grant her immortality. Lordaeron is a writhing, disgusting tomb of void-infused undead and ghosts, who feed off live prisoners in grisly rituals.

Occasionally the city is rocked by a deafening, bone-rattling wail.

ENDURING PEACE // AFTERMATH (POST VISIONS OF N’ZOTH)

Outwardly, the Horde enjoys its lasting peace with the Alliance. As both sides nurse their wounds, Sylvanas is distracted by a growing sensation that all is not right.

        While she has no proof of manipulation, the Warchief cannot shake the notion that a new, terrible threat has been watching Azeroth for some time. She finds herself on edge, and sending scouts to all corners of the known world to attempt to find some inkling of what she may be sensing (an endeavour made easier due to the armistice, perhaps the only benefit she’s believed its had).

        She also must suffer with the knowledge that Azshara is alive. Windrunner plots the empress’ downfall, though the process is slow and meticulous. She underestimated the queen’s abilities once, and it cost her both her pride, and the dagger.  

        Sylvanas does not know why Azshara kept their deal secret, but she imagines it is due to some sort of trick the naga will attempt later.  

[jovialyouthmusic]

Silver Service

A Royal Romance Au fanfic sequel to Protect and Serve

We go back into the past to learn about one of Bastien’s former lovers

Word Count 4150

A/N  Warning - character death NS*W - if threesomes aren’t your thing, read no further.  NO UNDER 18S PLEASE

4 Two’s company, Three is more fun

Bastien crawled out from under the table, which had shielded him from the blast. His ears rang and his eyes stung from the acrid smoke and the horrible smell of charred flesh. It was dark to start with, then the emergency lighting kicked in. Lisa was most definitely not going to answer any more questions, judging by the mangled body on the other side of the table. The room was black and he realised that the wetness he felt running down his neck wasn’t blood, but the sprinkler system kicking in. It wasn’t needed as the smoke quickly cleared and he hit the off switch on the wall.

He made his way swiftly to Parker, lying in a heap against the door. His leg was bleeding heavily but seemed to be otherwise intact, if stunned. Judging by the scraps of plastic nearby, he had managed to shield himself from the worst of it by diving behind one of the bucket chairs. Normally it was bolted to the floor but the blast from the explosives concealed in Lisa’s phone had blown it clear off.

Bastien said a silent prayer of thanks that his reflexes were still fast enough and he had escaped injury. He carefully rolled Parker away from the door and opened it. His ears continued to ring but he could hear now. There was shouting from the corridor outside as the other guards made their way to the room to assess the situation.

‘It’s okay, it’s safe to come in’ Bastien shouted ‘Lisa had explosives in her phone. Who the hell let her in with something like that, how did it get past security checks?’ He turned to Parker, lying on the floor and coughing weakly ‘Get help for him. Lisa’s dead’ He retrieved his cane and walked out into the corridor. He was almost knocked by someone running full pelt into him and before he knew it, Sophia was holding onto him tight, her voice high with anxiety.

‘Bastien, what happened? I was coming down to the kitchens to talk to chef and I heard the explosion’ Other members of staff, white faced and shaking, were appearing. Bastien kept hold of Sophia, squeezing her tight to reassure her he was alright, and spoke loudly.

‘Evacuate the staff wing, now. Make sure Liam and Regina are safe – take them to the panic room if they’re not already there’ He called James over and turned back to Sophia ‘Go with James, I need to make sure she’s not left any devices anywhere else’ he said calmly. He nodded to the other man ‘Take her to one of the safe houses – don’t tell me which one until I contact you’

‘No’ said Sophia firmly ‘You said no more active duty. Let Lewis do it’ James looked at him, and he sighed heavily.

‘You’re right of course, I don’t need to be on site. We need sniffer dogs – evacuate the building and call the army to help sweep the Palace. If Lisa smuggled that in, who knows what else she might have managed. She can’t have been innocent. She claimed she’d accidentally found the code to Constantine’s safe, but it didn’t sound right. I suspect she was far more than just a maid. I think this was a snap decision of hers to prevent us finding out any more about who she was working with’ Just then Lewis arrived. He had been off duty and had dressed quickly and come from his apartment at the other end of the building – as a precaution his quarters were as far as they could be from Bastien’s and the security suite.

The two men decided that the Palace wasn’t safe, so they arranged a total evacuation in case Lisa had managed to smuggle in any other devices. Thankfully the Palace was the only place she’d worked so other locations were most likely safe. Bastien was angry that security checks hadn’t come up with anything when she was first employed. Liam and Regina were taken from the panic room and sent straight to Applewood, and all the other nobles were escorted back to their rooms to pack their belongings and told either to go home or follow the royals to Applewood. Palace staff were told to go to families or into hotels in the town until the Palace was declared safe, while others were to go to Applewood.

Lewis was to stay at the Palace in a cottage in the grounds while it was being examined, and Bastien had his rooms examined before he and Sophia went back to pack things for Applewood. Sophia remained pale and quiet throughout and was reluctant to leave his side, so he was indulgent and made sure she stayed with him.

The explosion was played down as a kitchen accident, and the evacuation kept quiet by announcing that the Palace was undergoing renovations. Although Bastien had asked for the Army to go in and help make a thorough security sweep, again this was explained away as an unscheduled exercise, facilitated by the Palace being empty. After that, Liam’s arrangements for the Charity tour diverted attention away from the incident. Nobles and commoners were invited to present cases for worthy causes and projects so that the Council of Nobles could select and approve them and work out an itinerary.

In his office at Applewood, Bastien received intel that Justin had left the country and was beyond his reach, so he decided to call on Interpol to help trace him. When they came back with a list of specialists, he raised his eyebrows and picked up his phone, assaulted by a series of memories.

------

Five years ago, Bastien was chasing Crown Prince Leo around the world. He was getting wilier and wilier, and after getting bored with exploring Europe, he ended up in New York. Bastien had at last caught up with him, and luckily this time he had one of his men with him, a younger man called Lewis who showed promise. He was tasked with watching over the Prince in his hotel room while Bastien took the night off. The Royal Jet was en route to the city bringing reinforcements and would be taking them all back to Cordonia the next evening.

Bastien changed out of his work clothes into something more casual, throwing a black leather jacket over a shirt and sweater with black chinos. He really needed some proper R and R. His usual preference was to go camping or fishing, but that wasn’t feasible in the city and he didn’t have time to go further afield, so he found himself out on the streets letting his feet take him where they would. Before he realised it, he was walking through the door of a dingy back street club, the thumping beat of music audible from outside. It was the kind of place he’d never have gone to out of choice but he’d followed Leo into similar places so many times he’d started to like them and feel at home there. Normally he liked Jazz or classical music, but tonight he needed something more primal. He needed jostling bodies and sweat and a willing partner.

He found himself at the bar with a cold beer, sizing up the dancers on the dance floor as the music throbbed and battered at his eardrums and coloured lights swept across the swaying crowd, in thrall to the beat. It was hot from body heat and smelled of sweat and deodorant and perfume and alcohol. His eyes, ears, nose and tongue all sent signals to his brain and he didn’t need to think or plan or do anything he didn’t want to.

‘Hello handsome’ Despite the noise Bastien was aware of the intrusion before the brunette approached him from behind to lean in close and greet him ‘You don’t look familiar’ She was young, skimpily dressed, and he could see straight down her ample cleavage. Glitter was scattered across her chest and her perfume was heady, intoxicating. Before he could answer, someone placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Back off Gina, go find another mark. This guy doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow morning with an empty wallet and a nasty rash’ She pouted at the new arrival, stepping back from Bastien and shrugging the hand off.

‘Hey Nazario, a girl needs to make a living.’ He was younger than Bastien, Latino, with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. He wore a brown leather jacket and black jeans, his shirt open at the neck to reveal smooth skin which he guessed under natural light was a soft caramel colour in contrast to his own olive slightly tanned Mediterranean complexion.

‘Well go and make a living somewhere else – beat it or I’ll take you in.’ he carried on. She flounced off and Bastien took a swig from his bottle and stared the newcomer down. ‘This is where you say thanks for saving you from a nasty experience’ he said, tipping his head to the side.

‘What makes you think she’d have taken me in? Just because I’m not from round here doesn’t mean I’m green’ Bastien said. The other man rolled his eyes and went to turn away, but Bastien reached out and grabbed his arm. He looked down at his hand, then up at Bastien. He didn’t flinch, but kept hold of him for long enough to convey that he wasn’t backing down, then his expression softened. He flicked his head toward the barman ‘Get this man a drink’ he commanded, letting go.

The barman poured another beer – obviously Bastien’s self styled saviour was a regular at the bar. Bastien reached out and they shook hands. ‘Bastien Lykel’ he said shortly

‘Damien Nazario’

‘NYPD?’ Bastien asked

‘I guess you got that from me threatening to take Gina in’ Bastien nodded

‘Yes, but I can always tell someone from the same kind of business’

‘Oh yes? So where are you from? That accent’s not local – it’s not even from this side of the Atlantic.’

‘The other side of the Atlantic is accurate enough’ he said ‘I work in security. I’m here on business, just a short stop’

‘Have you seen the sights?’

‘I didn’t have time’ Another girl, a petite redhead, made her way up to Damien, snuggling into him and nodding at Bastien.

‘Who’s your friend, Dames?’ she looked him up and down appraisingly and bit her lip.

‘A transatlantic acquaintance’ he replied. Before they could exchange any more words over the noise of the music the beat changed, and she jumped up and down

‘Oh I have to dance to this – come with me, Mr Transatlantic’ she cooed, and grabbed his arm, tugging him to the dancefloor. After only a moment’s hesitation he allowed her to lead, and she started to bob and gyrate with the rest of the dancers. The music was so loud it pounded in his chest and it felt like he was swimming in it. It wasn’t long before he allowed his body to go with the flow, inhibitions loosened by the beer and the anonymous location. Here no-one knew who he was and he could let go, as he did from time to time out of situation. Many who knew him as the stony faced head of the Kings Guard would not recognise him, simply because his conduct was totally opposite to his usual professional demeanour. He shook his body loose, letting go of the frustrations of the last few weeks. He may not be able to dance like Lord Maxwell, but he had a good sense of rhythm and was agile and light on his feet from his martial arts training. His quick moves gave off an impression of power and stamina. The girl watched him intently, still spinning and bobbing with the music. He leaned closer

‘I didn’t get your name’ he shouted ‘I’m Bastien’

‘Carmen’ she replied. Damien appeared behind her, and she looked back at him over her shoulder coquettishly, biting her lip. She pressed herself back into his body and swung her hips, rising and falling and reaching back to caress him, all the time looking at Bastien.

She reached out to take his hands and drew him near, putting his hands on her hips as she leaned into Damien. Again her hips swayed and he both watched and felt her sinuous movements, his hands staying on her for a few moments before she threw them off and started to turn and pivot between the two men, staring at and engaging first one, then the other until he felt dizzy. Damien fixed his gaze to Bastien’s - he felt heat in his belly and gazed back at him keenly, from time to time flicking his gaze to Carmen’s face. He wasn’t sure which one attracted him more, though the redhead was a little too petite for him. Still, small women had surprised him in the past so she still might be interesting.

‘I want you – both of you’ she said hoarsely, leaning toward him ‘Have you got somewhere we can go, Mr Transatlantic?’ He frowned slightly and Damien picked up on his reluctance. They were close enough that the volume of the music allowed them to make themselves heard without shouting too loud.

‘You can come to mine – I had the cleaner in today, it’s cool’ Bastien’s head swam, but caution won out. This could all be a sting, his instincts told him Nazario was most probably NYPD, but a good con man could easily give that impression.

‘I need to make a call’ he said, and the other man nodded in approval.

‘Whatever you need to do’ he replied, and Bastien left them dancing, stepping outside the back door of the club where the smokers went, and texted Lewis to get him to do a security check. Within minutes the other man’s details came back, complete with his NYPD ID photo. He checked out as legitimate, and Leo was secure so Bastien dove back into the club. The fresh air had given him a chance to think twice about what he was doing, but he hadn’t changed his mind. He’d been led a merry dance by the prince for some weeks, and he needed to destress before he returned to Cordonia to report on his movements. These few hours were his, to do with as he would.

Damien and Carmen were still dancing, and he joined them again. Carmen smiled and turned her back to Damien, grabbing the front of his jacket, which suddenly felt too hot, too confining as she drew him closer, swinging her hips and allowing her breasts to brush against him. The music got hold of him again and he let himself be swept away. Carmen was steering him to the edge of the dancefloor and Damien followed. He felt himself growing hard as Carmen pushed him against the wall at the edge of the dancefloor and pressed herself against him. Har hand wandered down between their bodies and he saw her eyes go wide.

‘Oh Mr Transatlantic, you are a special man’ she said, at discovering his size. She turned away to Damien and spoke in his ear. He looked at Bastien, grinning, and reached in his pocket to retrieve his house keys, dangling them on his fingers. He came closer to Bastien.

‘I think we’d enjoy ourselves more somewhere private’ he said. Bastien nodded – he had limited time and he found both of them attractive. He patted his jacket pocket, checking he had his supply of condoms – a brand that he knew fitted him comfortably and were reliable. Carmen disappeared to the ladies’ room and the two men waited for her. Damien looked at him ‘You’re happy to go with both of us?’ he asked, and Bastien nodded

‘I don’t discriminate’ he answered ‘but I call the shots’ Damien nodded

‘Only fitting, as you’re a guest in our city’ he grinned. ‘It’s not far to mine, we can walk’

 ------

It only took fifteen minutes to walk to Damien’s apartment on the third floor in a non descript block, neither a slum nor a penthouse, somewhere on the cheap side of respectable. Carmen held on to Bastien’s arm all the way, chatting about nothing in particular, trying unsuccessfully for her companion to tell where he came from, or any personal details.

Damien let them in, and as soon as they were inside, Carmen was on Bastien, pushing him against the wall and crashing her lips to his. He responded hungrily as she tore at his clothes. Damien laughed

‘You two get started, Carmen knows where the bedroom is’ He disappeared to the bathroom as Bastien spun her round so she was the one pinned to the wall and it was easier for him to strip. They left a trail of clothes to the bedroom and she squealed as he threw her naked onto the bed, pressing her down, his mouth claiming hers, hand smoothing over her belly and between her thighs.

Some kind of magic happened between the three of them that night. Few words were spoken as he went down on her, tongue twirling and probing. Carmen gasped and spread her thighs wide, hands twisting into his hair and encouraging him on. Damien joined them and with a few deft touches they manoeuvred so Bastien lay on his back, Damien wordlessly working on his hard length with hand and mouth – taking what he could into his mouth and wrapping his hand around the base of his shaft. He  certainly knew how to give a good blow job, and with the added stimulation of Carmen lowering herself onto Bastien’s face so he could finish what he started, it wasn’t long before he came, Damien swallowing and Carmen bucking as she came to her own climax.

The two New Yorkers were eager to try Bastien for size, but Carmen rode Damien first as Bastien retrieved his condoms and watched them, stroking himself ready for action. They rose and fell together, Carmen watching Bastien and switching when he was hard enough and had pulled on a condom. She took her time lowering herself onto him until she had taken as much as she could. Damien watched and stroked himself while Bastien rolled her over onto her back and set up a slow steady rhythm until she was moaning and pleading for her release.

Bastien could tell the petite woman wasn’t coping well with his size, so he pulled out, and again with a few touches and directions, Damien lay on his back for Bastien to slowly inch his way into him, helped by liberal amounts of lube. Bastien directed that Carmen should ride Damien once he was comfortable. She mounted Damien, facing Bastien to kiss him and press her breasts to his chest. The three of them moved slowly together, the room full of their moans and gasps. Carmen slowed and switched so she faced Damien to kiss him, and Bastien was rewarded by the sight of her rounded buttocks, Damien’s length disappearing into her.

They cooperated to slow and quicken the pace, rising and falling, thrusting and gyrating until with a guttural  cry Carmen came noisily, setting off a chain reaction that resulted in Damien coming first, closely followed by Bastien. Carmen slid off to the side, Bastien carefully withdrawing with the condom, and she padded off to the bathroom to get cloths to clean up.

Bastien asked if it was okay to use the shower when Carmen had settled, eyes fluttering sleepily. Damien followed him and watched as he lathered himself up, eyes roaming over his body.

‘You’re in good shape’ he said admiringly ‘That was a blast, hope it was okay for you’ Bastien lifted his chin to invite him in to the shower cubicle, generously sized in the small apartment to make up for the lack of a bath.

‘It’s been a while, but yes, it was good, I don’t often get to be with two people. Carmen is remarkable – is she your partner?’  Damien lathered Bastien’s back as he turned, his hand smoothing firmly over his shoulders and firm buttocks.

‘Not as such, we hook up every now and again. I don’t think she’ll forget tonight in a hurry’ He stood to let the water rinse him clean.

‘Glad to be of service’ Bastien replied ‘Can I take your number and we can meet up if I’m back – I do come this way once or twice a year’ Damien started to let the water cascade over him and Bastien admired his body, not as taut as his or as hirsute, but enough to want to visit him again. His member was not as thick as his – few were – but was cut and almost equalled him in length.

‘Sure’ Damien agreed ‘I’d like that – with or without Carmen?’

‘Either’ Bastien replied with a grave expression. Damien lathered himself and he helped, his hands sliding over Damien’s body. ‘Things were a little uneven for you’ he observed, noticing that he became hard under his ministrations. Damien only moaned in answer and leaned against the cubicle wall, Bastien wrapping his soapy hand around his member. He brought his hand up, thumb swiping around the tip, then down, his hand twisting on the way.

Damien leaned back as the older man carried on sliding his hand up and down and round, leaning forward to nip at his neck and ear, pressing his own hard body against him. It didn’t take long before his hips bucked and rocked and his semen mingled with the water that cascaded down from the shower head. Bastien slowed and came to a stop, making sure Damien was okay as he came down from his orgasm before getting out of the shower and drying himself.

‘You can stay the night if you like’ Damien offered.

‘I’d like to but I have to be back early’ he said

‘Carmen’s a cuddler’ Damien said with a soft smile ‘Though she’s probably out for the count right now’ Bastien thought things over as he retrieved his clothes from the floor, all dropped in the haste of passion and overlooked by Damien. He went into the small lounge diner and stepped back into his boxer briefs. He shrugged into his shirt, folding his pants and sweater and hanging his jacket on the back of a chair. It seemed a shame to end the night like this.

‘Let me double check’ he said. Lewis might be fatigued watching over Leo. He texted him and got a reply straight away. The jet had arrived early as Constantine had insisted his son return to meet a delegation from Monaco, and already there were two more of his men there to take care of things. They would be leaving mid morning rather than the evening, so he had more time than he had hoped for. He could sleep on the plane as three other men, two of them fresh, should be enough to curtail any ideas Leo had of gaining his freedom. He told Lewis to get some sleep and expect him for breakfast. He turned back to Damien.

‘I can stay for a while. Do you have any liquor?’ Damien nodded and went into the tiny kitchenette to get a bottle of bourbon and two glasses, which were passably clean under Bastien’s scrutiny. They drank and talked for a while, avoiding sensitive information and sticking to the perils of their profession – and a few amusing anecdotes. Bastien was pleased to find how easily they related to each other – it was unusual and refreshing to be able to talk about work without letting his status as Captain get in the way. He kept his location and the identity of his employers vague and Damien didn’t question it. He turned as he heard a noise at the door. Carmen stood there wearing what was obviously one of Damien’s shirts, her expression sleepy, her hair tousled.

‘Hey boys, I’m kind of lonely’ she purred ‘Somebody come and keep me warm’ She laughed at Damien’s expression ‘Just cuddling, promise – unless either of you had other ideas’

‘Sleep sounds good’ Damien replied ‘Bastien, like I said, you can stay if you like’ The guard looked at his smartphone, working out how long it would take to get back to his hotel, and set an alarm accordingly.

‘Thankyou, but only to sleep’ he asserted. The bed was a generous size, which made Bastien wonder how many times there had been multiple partners in the bedroom. He lay on his back with Carmen nestling into his side, her small frame not quite fitting properly, and Damien lay behind her, an arm thrown over her hip and straying to Bastien’s belly, at which he felt a twitch of arousal. He dismissed it and before long had drifted off to sleep with Carmen’s scent teasing his nostrils.

Next chapter 5 Memories of another life

[maxwell-pls]

I swear - (Thomas x MC)

Pairing: Thomas Mendez x MC (Margaret Day)

Summary: After a long battle against her Ex-Husband, Guy, for custody of their daughter, Ophelia, Margaret Day’s world comes crashing down when the judge’s final verdict is not in her favor. When she thought all hope was lost, she realized who she still had standing in her corner...

Word count: Around 2000

Author’s note: Hi, hello! This is the first fic that I’ve ever posted, so the excitement is real! If you’re new to my blog, welcome! A quick couple things: I apologize for my misuse of past/present verbs, (that’s the one thing in English class I didn’t get the hang of), and any other spelling/grammatical errors. Secondly, this is the first time I’ve written in first person, I thought it conveyed the emotion better than third could have. This is also the first time I’ve done dual pov’s, again, I felt it was necessary to get all the emotion across. Lastly, I don’t know how custody proceedings work so pretend it’s accurate lmao. I hope you enjoy, and I’d love feedback! If you have any prompts, please feel free to send them to my ask (to the anon who sent one a couple days ago, I’m working on it next!)

Tags:

@dr-ethanjramsey @chanceisagoodboy @kingliamsbitch @chetachisblog @drakewalkerfantasy @annekebbphotography @adrianrainesworld @hopelessly-shipper @cordoniasmost @justinsbitchh

(If you want to be tagged on my future fics reply/ask/message me!)

—

*Margaret’s POV*

Everything was numb.

My ears stopped hearing, and my eyes stopped seeing. The only feeling left in my husk of a body was the tears streaming down my cheeks. I could feel their entire journey from eyelid, down as some even dripped onto my collar bone.

“Ms. Day?” Someone was calling out to me but I couldn’t make out who, perhaps the judge?

“Margaret..” I felt his hand touch my arm, it was Thomas. In the waves of ringing versus actual sound my ears made out a mutter of, “I’m so sorry.”

Everything happened so quickly, which I shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. Guy’s smirk that was spread on his face was pure evil, it always had been. It was easy to tell he was never in this for Ophelia–

Ophelia.

I could see her blonde hair out of the corner of my eye, she had insisted on coming for “moral support.” She’s always been so wise for her age. What I didn’t see at first was his blonde hair.

“Mommy!” Ophelia’s cry snapped me out of my numbness. Guy was grabbing her and insisting she came with him, after all, he had won.

“Wait, please!” I screamed out, I just wanted to hold her, I need to say goodbye, to tell her I will fix this. But he won’t let me.

“Ophelia, lets go.” Guy pulled on her again. She barely moved, she was looking at me now with tears in her eyes. What was actually happening must have finally hit her. Guy decided on a new tactic and picked her up.

“Please, you can’t take her away!” I’m screaming and sobbing now. I instinctively tried to run out, but Thomas’ arms wrapped around me and held me back. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as he held me in the air, my limbs wrangling to get out. “Please, I love her! You haven’t been here, you don’t even want her!” My screams were piercing the walls, but they weren’t piercing his ears. He didn’t care. Guy has never cared. “PLEASE!” I let out one last scream before my voice broke.

Thomas finally let me go after Guy and Ophelia were gone, probably halfway to his car by now. But I didn’t even notice, I had fallen to the ground, my despair taking over me, my sobs loud enough for the whole town to hear. It felt like hours had passed before he finally helped me up and walked me to his car to drive me home.

The ride was silent. My head pressed against the window, I could still see with my peripheral vision that he kept looking at me, hesitating to say anything. It was like this the whole way up the stairs to my apartment as well. When we got inside, I walked straight to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, continuing my sobs from the courtroom. Thomas came in, he still didn’t say anything. I felt the weight shift on the bed as he climbed in next to me, then he pulled my head to his chest. As I continued to cry, I managed to mutter an apology as my tears made house on his, probably expensive, white shirt. But I could tell he didn’t care, as he brushed strands of hair out of my face and hushed back a “shhh.” He continued to hold me as sleep finally took over my body.

A knock, no, a pounding on the front door had startled me awake. It didn’t even affect Thomas, as I peer up and notice he too had drifted into sleep. I manage to gently creep out of his arms without waking him then journey to the front door, noticing his suit jacket laying atop the back of one of the dining chairs. The pounding on the door happened once more and stopped when I slowly opened it.

Of course, it’s Guy.

“I’m here to get some of Ophelia’s things.” His condescending tone wrang through my eardrums. I held back my tongue and motioned for him to come inside. I could tell he too noticed Thomas’ jacket, but surprisingly, he didn’t say anything. “I’ll need her school things and some of her clothes.” I didn’t hold back my tongue this time.

“What? You can’t buy her new clothes with your million dollar snack company?” I raise my eyebrows at him and cross my arms. He didn’t seem amused as he clenched his fists and his eyebrows arched.

“Just get me the damn bag, Margaret.” His tone has shifted to pure anger and I don’t know what he’s capable of anymore, so I just head straight back to Ophelia’s room to pack the bag.

*Thomas’ POV*

My eyes flutter open to the sound of conversation from outside the room. Margaret isn’t here, someone must have showed up, and I have a guess as to who. I climb off her bed as I hear her pass by the door and go into Ophelia’s room, Guy must be here for some of her things. As I walk out of the bedroom, I reach down to fix the undid buttons on my shirt, they must have came undone in our sleep. When I looked up, I came face to face with Guy who noticed my shirt, and my messy hair, which I hadn’t.

He let out a breath, not a sigh, it seemed too angry. “I should have guessed you would be here.” His breath was accompanied by a tone with the same message.

“Normal people like to check in on those they care about.” I cross my arms, it seems he is sizing me up. His next words came out a little quieter.

“Mm sure, that’s not usually the kind of IN they mean.” He glanced at my messy hair. I wasn’t sure what he—

Oh.

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” I look him in the eye this time, but evoke no response. I was about to say something else before Margaret came back into the room, a bag filled with Ophelia’s things in her hands, which it wasn’t there for long before Guy aggressively snatched it out of them. He made a beeline for the door and went to open it but instead turned around, his expression was now a very large smile.

“You’re welcome by the way.” He looked right at Margaret and I instinctively stepped forward.

“For what..?” Her voice was low.

“Why, for giving you a free apartment to whore yourself out to every man—” Before he could finish my fist had locked with his jaw. I heard Margaret yell my name as I seemed to have blacked out, all I felt was his punches on my body and mine on his.

*Margaret’s POV*

I came out of the room and saw Thomas standing with Guy, the tension in the air was high. I looked on confused for a second before Guy ripped Ophelia’s bag out of my hands and headed for the door. I was staring at Thomas, he seems angry? I didn’t notice Guy stopped.

“You’re welcome by the way.” My eyes snapped away from Thomas and looked to Guy, who was smiling at me quite widely.

I’m confused, what were they talking about? “For what..?” I say with a low voice. If it was even possible, it seemed Guy’s smile somehow got bigger.

“Why, for giving you a free apartment to whore yourself out to every man—” My heart nearly stopped at the same time that Guy’s words did when Thomas’s fist collided with his jaw.

“Thomas!” I yelled out to him, but he clearly didn’t listen, his rage apparent as him and Guy were beating each other on the ground. I saw bruises being formed and a glimpse of blood, before hastily opening the door and running across the hall. I banged on Levi’s door with open palms, “Levi, help!” It didn’t take long for him to open his door and see the commotion happening through my open door behind me. He rushes, with me following close behind him, into my apartment and is going to break it up when he stops and holds his arm out to stop me as well. We watch as the scene unfolds.

Thomas hauls a bleeding Guy off the ground and within a second, shoves him against the fridge, pressing an arm to his throat. It almost seemed as though his eyes were flaming as Guy’s seemed to be tearing up.

“You listen to me.” Thomas spoke between gritted teeth, my heart is pounding so loud I don’t even know how I can hear the words he is saying. “You will not look at, talk to, or even think about Margaret. If you come anywhere near her, I will stick my hand down your throat, then I will rip out the good for nothing block of ice that you call a heart.”

Guy’s words came out with some blood as well, “What about her seeing her kid?” My kid. Shouldn’t he say our kid? I felt rage of my own now.

“You’ll do drop offs and pickups with her lawyer, me, present. Do you understand me?” Thomas looked at him as Guy stayed silent. His eyes peered toward me and he seemed as though he was going to say something but was stopped as Thomas punched him in the stomach. “I said, do you fucking understand me, Mr. Ledford?”

With his eyes looking into Thomas’, Guy mumbled out. “Yes, sir.” With those worlds, Thomas let him go, Guy coughed and rubbed his throat where Thomas’ arm used to be. I was going to grab Ophelia’s bag but didn’t have to, Thomas did and shoved it into Guy’s arms. Levi shifted beside me and approached Guy to escort him out.

Giving him an intimidating look, Levi says, “Sometimes I forget how difficult those stairs can be to climb.” I noticed Guy nod in understanding before they walk out of the door, which I walk to close, stopping for a moment with my palms pressed against it.

*Thomas’ POV*

I wiped my busted lip onto my wrinkled sleeve as I watched Levi escort Guy out the door and Margaret close it behind them. She stops for a moment and lets out a sigh. The realization of what I had done is finally dawning on me.

“Margaret, I’m so sorry. It’s just, he shouldn’t talk to you like that, plus we didn’t even—” My words were stopped with the press of her lips against mine. They’re very soft, exactly as I’ve always expected, and always wished for them to feel. The part of me that always ran away, that always felt ‘not ready’ is gone, I’ve never been more sure about anything as I’m sure of my feelings for her.

*Margaret’s POV*

Before Thomas could finish apologizing I crossed the room and pressed my lips to his, capturing the rest of his words with them. All of our unspoken feelings for each other were finally being told, without any words. It feels as though the world has stopped around us, as though it stopped for us.

Our lips finally separated and he rested his forehead against mine. “Thank you.” I say to him, with a smile spread across my face. He pulls away and caresses my face with his hands, softly rubbing his thumbs against my cheekbones.

“I will never let him hurt you again.” His words come out with confidence and determination. “And I will do whatever, for however long, to help you get her back.” His eyes search mine for a moment before his final words. “I swear.” Without hesitation I wrap my arms around him, hugging him amorously and he quickly melts into my embrace. His breath against my neck, he speaks in a hushed whisper. “I’m done running.” And I realize with his words that I too, am done running. We will get Ophelia back, because with him by my side, I am unstoppable.

(Thanks for reading! 1. SIS SNAPPED. 2. Just a side note, for those interested, the courtroom scene was inspired by this scene from one of my favorite shows, Desperate Housewives!)

[selinag706]

Significance of clinical preliminaries in drug advancement

The drug business is continually experiencing quick development and progress in production of new prescription and medications to battle the pandemic and its belongings. The drug business is going through exceptional changes in their techniques for creation with an ever increasing number of associations understanding the sheer significance of clinical preliminaries and examination and the amount it helpers them in the improvement of medications for malady. The pharmacology segment is rapidly understanding the significance of clinical exploration regarding making and mass-creating drugs that can viably fix diseases without bringing on any symptoms in the patients. To investigate why clinical preliminary are absolutely critical in the improvement of existing medication just as the making of new successful, safe medications for sometime later.

Clinical Trials-

This is when remedy or new prescriptions are being gone after for open use, during a constant clinical investigation study. It is a test system made to find a solution for an organized assessment which plunges into the treatment of contamination and malady that correct currently have no ideal fix. This is also done to ensure the security of the medication when it's conveyed for general use as it incorporates human lives and is a demanding, careful method of achieving results that will be shielded and totally utilitarian. Clinical primers occur in 4 obvious stages

 •             Phase 1-this is the fundamental testing stage, where the clinical starter is taken a stab at a basically small assembling of people as it is the primary period of testing and the Clinical Researchers haven't seen the effects of the drug in work. This stage is fundamental as its when they choose if the drug can be taken a stab at a greater social affair, taking into account its assets and what the right part of medicine is critical to be genuinely helpful.

 •             Phase 2-this stage is a go-between one, where they move from the small assembling to a to some degree greater one as a technique for thinking about the general prevailing part rather than just a specific social event. This is a fundamental stage concerning understanding the more minor effects of the drug that may have gone heretofore unnoticed in light of the unobtrusive number of people being attempted.

 •             Phase 3-this is the stage straightforwardly before getting support for huge extension enormous scope fabricating, as the solution will at present be scattered to a much greater people, of people from different geographical districts as a technique for getting encounters into the effect of the prescription on a varying social occasion of people. At the point when the remedy is found to be ground-breaking and non-making moves to people from changed establishments.

 •             Phase 4-this is the phase that happens when the experts have government authorisation to suitable the medicine worldwide and watch the effects of the remedy, which will be recorded for future reference and production of the prescription. This stage puts aside a long proportion of exertion to reach and not all clinical primers will show up at this stage, anyway the ones that do will make a splendidly sure impact on the lives of the people.

 Since we've seen what a clinical primer includes, and it's different stages it's moreover basic to observe that there are two rule kinds of starters that are used to show up at a goal. They are the interventional and observational primer procedures, interventional zeroing in on getting more information about a specific intercession or fix and individuals from this starter are significant for different treatment bundles for a basic relationship of results. Observational assessments base on situational contrasts and their impact on people, where they watch individuals yet don't direct remember themselves for the cycle to get the trademark, unconditioned results which do exclude treatment social events.

 From the total of this I think we know accurately why clinical fundamentals are huge, because they lead to demanding momentous fixes that could extra or make the lives of people encountering disease better, it gives trust in a way of life that is better than the one we lived as of now and makes an impact that could never be assessed by any scale. If clinical starters and clinical investigation shimmers premium and motivation to learn and create as an individual, there's reliably the idea searching after a course that energizes you achieve these targets, as the business is one of the most liberally redressed, unequivocally well known and ceaselessly looking for new talented Researchers.

 Clariwell Global Services offers a course in Clinical Research which fuses an uncommon and obvious style of learning, with a course structure that makes sense of how to give you start to finish encounters into the business similarly as empowers an excitement for imaginative work. The course requires the competitor to have a strong understanding or establishment in Life sciences as it will be at the point of convergence of the course, with its significantly arranged industry masters who give consistent, field experiential getting ready to the candidates. Close to this they also develop learning of fragile capacities, for instance, correspondence, activity for fundamentals to say the least, with their highlights on work for the up-and-comers of the course you can have certainty of getting into the field of clinical assessment once you've completed the course.

 This course will make you a critical competitor in the field of medication and clinical investigation as it facilitates teaching related to clinical data the board systems, clinical assessment accomplices and all around assessment of clinical assessment, which gets ready you as a future Clinical Research agent, whether or not you're a fresher or a practiced worker. Clinical investigation fundamentals lead to the improvement of ordinary resident continues with, the proportion of fulfillment the right medication accommodates an individual can never be explained as it will truly make them recognize life on earth and it makes a future that is more disease free appeared differently in relation to the past.

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