#bring back yearning

[slytherinslut0]

where are the men who yearn. where are the men who ponder. where are the men with depth. where are the men who find parallels. where are the men who love from their barest instinct. where are the men with whimsy. where are the men with certainty. where are the men who will cut their own heart out in face of your honour. where are the men

[coolestplaceintheworld]

[inthehystericalrealm]

idk how many times I can say I’m in love with him but here I am once again

nine facts, one lie

summary: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.

Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong… [16.5k]

[one sided enemies to lovers — you hate steve and by god, does he want to change that] dedicated to my dearest kenny

Fact #1: You did not, under any circumstance, like Steve Harrington. 

It doesn’t matter what Dustin says nor the smug roll of Robin’s eyes, you knew it yourself even if no one else believed it; you did not like Steve Harrington. 

From everything you’ve ever heard about the guy, it was a surprise that he still had any friends — especially with the likes of your friends, a fact that makes you gag when Robin brings it up.

Robin, lovely best friend Robin, who completely betrayed you by associating herself willingly with Steve.

Since the beginning of high school, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Gossip was spilled between the two of you frequently, juicy enough to make even Carol Perkins’ head spin — you talked often enough that it got you split up during class time constantly, giggles too loud to be contained. 

Being at the bottom of the social food-chain —or maybe worse, completely unseen to your peers— there was nothing like sharing snarky remarks between you and Robin about the dunderheads who ‘ruled’ the school through idiotic popularity. 

Robin had a particular dislike for Tina Burgess ever since she’d started the rumour that girls in band were freaks in the sheets and would put out to anyone who would ask. You weren’t sure what had been worse: the obvious dig that Robin wasn’t getting any or the slimy guys who believed it and had the guts to ask. 

You, however, distinctly despised the likes of King Steve.

Keep reading

[chobunz]

that tiktok made me want a jungwon’s first love typa thing lwk… 🙏

i feel u, who wouldn’t wanna be his first love *sigh* 😔 a soulmate!au w jungwon would kinda hit tho ngl..

[supremeromanticizer]

How do I resist the urge to immediately spill my guts to ppl in efforts to get to know them better. How do I gradually make a friendship go from casual to the “oh she knows everything about me, we’re inseparable!” type if I need to feel a strong emotional from the other in order to WANT to keep the friendship going in the first place

[motherismotheringggg]

he’s HUGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[oristian]

Elain curling a strand of hair behind her ear and Lucien struggling to breathe as he sees her wearing the pearl earrings he had gifted her.

[yayll]

Soo umm maybe angsty request but a reader who works at the agency but misses her old life? Like, family or her old self. If you wanna and like the idea!! Have fun💕

i know this is a thousand yrs late and i am so sorry abt that but also. thank you for trusting me w this request i rlly took it to heart and i cracked these damn knuckles and hopefully wrote something you'll like :') i had fun, angel. MWAH.

- a little something about emotions and Dazai's way of perceiving yours ~

"Aughhh..."

You're groaning at your desk again, face down and resting your forehead on the cold wooden surface. Lately, it's been the same cycle. You come to work and the day goes by in a blink of an eye, and suddenly... There is nothing else to look forward to but to do it all again tomorrow. It's been tough, with the agency constantly bombarded with cases and quite literally saving the world, you've forgotten to call home every week like you used to. Now it's every other month, if at all.

There are times when you go on your lunch break and think about how ordinary your life used to be, how you used to spend your time doing the opposite of what you do now. Joining the agency was a wonderful turning point in your life and you wouldn't trade it for the world, but sometimes it felt like there was too much happening, you were falling behind and not connecting enough with the foundations that made you, you. It was an overstimulating nightmare.

Your co-workers were so talented and caring and it felt like a family with the way you all worked as a unit and watched out for each other, yet the intrusive thoughts about you never quite fitting in wouldn't leave your mind. Or your face, for that matter.

This is where Dazai knew he had to get involved.

He could tell your mind was elsewhere, and he hated that. You were supposed to be wherever he was, even if you didn't fully know it yet. He constantly perceived you from across the office where he slacked off work as usual, but this time it wasn't to await his next grand revelation... It was to figure out why you seemed so distant. So far, yet so close. You always laughed at his jokes and antics, all a part of his attention seeking persona around the agency, but he could hear the way your laugh seemed to die down in your throat as if it burned to even make a sound. He recognized it as the kind of burn whiskey left behind in his own throat when he had his occasional drinks at Lupin after a particularly hard day. Dazai knew the feeling of ruminating, of feeling stuck in the past and how it could keep you from existing in the present if not dealt with properly. But he wasn't exactly the shining example of dealing with one's feelings, not when he was a walking contradiction, which is why he hesitated to bring this up to you directly.

Of course, that didn't stop him from trying, not when you're groaning so adorably within earshot.

Not when he would do anything for you to drop that fastidious attitude that won't give him the proper time of day. It was pathetic and selfish of him, but it was sincere. With a fixed smile like a Cheshire cat, he prances towards your desk and stands there for a solid minute before you realize the familiar entity looming over you.

You slowly look up, dark under eyes are the first to properly greet him, along with that cute clip in your hair that's barely holding it all together. He thinks you look even cuter this way even if you were at your worst, and that made him feel a tad guilty... just a tad. He clears his throat softly as a deceptively cheerful voice pours out of him.

"Hi! You're looking awfully exhausted today."

You hum, a weak smile adorning your lips. You didn't want to smile at all, but it was a force of habit, so why not use it on the biggest clown you knew?

"Yeah? That's real observant of you, Dazai."

His heart races as you poke back, what a precious creature you were. He responds with faux indignance, rolling his eyes and the whole bit.

"Uh yeah, of course! It's why they pay me the big bucks, silly. You should try being like me sometime."

"Ah, is that the only thing I should try being? Not very original of me, I must say."

His smile drops to a more sly smirk as he shrugs, sighing dramatically while casting his gaze elsewhere for a moment.

You should try to be mine, he thinks to himself.

He doesn't deserve that honor, but it's the truth and he can always count on delusion.

"Eh, who cares about originality? That's what writers use as an excuse to torture themselves. It's no fun, You might as well jump off a bridge with me instead."

You raise an eyebrow at that, your fake smile becoming a bit more genuine now.

"I think I'll pass on that, Dazai."

He pouts, and you hate that he resembles a puppy with the way his eyes comically droop.

"Such a shame. I was hoping we could share that experience together. It would be quite the work bonding exercise, don't you think?~"

You nod, your voice laced with what he hopes is a playful retort, but it is much too deadpan.

"I'm sure it would."

"You know, you're surprisingly hard to torment."

You hum once more, shrugging as you look back down at the files on your desk, unable to hold his dark eyes that seem to penetrate your very soul.

"... Well I suppose I could say the same about you."

Before you know it, you feel his warm breath against your cheek, having leaned down to your level to murmur in your ear. It's velvety and far too intimate for the middle of the workday, tempting like the devil himself.

"Like I said, we could always drown our sorrows in the river. That always helps."

You slowly turn your head to meet his gaze, a slight flush begins to burn your cheeks and you wish you hadn't turned at all. It's sick the way every once in a while he'll test your boundaries to see if you'll let him in, if you'll see past the charm and the self destructive tendencies that might just seal his fate one day.

But you need him right now! And you clearly need a bit more of a push rather than just jokes, so he makes a point to grill you until you have no choice but to run into his hypothetical arms. In that instant, he catches your phone light up, the word 'MOM' is as clear as the red that spreads through your face.

Ah, so that's it.

"Seems like you should take that."

Your eyes widen as you flicker between him and your phone. Shit.

"Maybe later. I'm not really in the headspace for a call right now... Might go out for some lunch and get some air."

"I like air. Perhaps we can get some together? You might have too much and need someone to resuscitate you."

You snort softly and immediately feel embarrassed for being so casual out of your own human weakness. Yet somehow Dazai's ridiculous jokes always manage to get you to play along and forget that very embarrassment.

"CPR involves air, Dazai. You'd kill me in the process."

He clutches his chest, letting out a dreamy breath.

"Ahhh. Romantic, don't you think? I'd follow you immediately, of course~"

You shake your head as you stand up to walk out for your much needed reprieve from the inescapable thoughts you can't shake.

"You're impossible."

He stands back to give you your space and sticks his hands into his coat pockets, beginning to follow right behind you. He taps your shoulder when your back is fully turned to him, clearing his throat as he says your name in the most sinful way.

"Ahem. You forgot your phone."

You freeze in your tracks. You want to so badly do what your mind is screaming to do, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The battle between wanting to grab that bit of normalcy you miss and wanting to avoid it like the plague is the fear of the commitment to acknowledge it. You slowly turn to face him holding out your phone for you and yet again... It stings when he looks at you like that. Like he actually cares. It makes you feel drunk on the sensation of being seen on a deeper level, the butterflies in your stomach keep saying so. You sigh, and mumble back.

"Leave it. I don't need it right now."

He steps a little closer, way too close for comfort. His voice drops to a more serious tone, yet it's nothing but gentle, firm. It's a Dazai you don't think you've ever heard except when on a mission. Even then it always felt performative. But not now. He takes your hand in his bandaged one and holds it out for a moment with your palm facing up. His desire for you to make amends with your troubles is far more important than proper customs, so he needs to do this and do it now before you drown any deeper and he loses his self control.

He can save you even if you're too stuck in your own self pity to see the brightness of your own future. How you shine like a diamond in the rough, if only you'd just let yourself live in the now. He whispers to you.

"I think she'd like to know how you're doing. Family, they're the only normalcy you can have sometimes... Especially in this line of work. I think you know that."

You gaze into his dark eyes, and for the first time are not afraid to hold eye contact as you realize you actually want to hear more. Finally, a real piece of him is being shown to you?

"... Is that something you relate to, Dazai?"

He almost winces at that, a flashback of two friends he once considered family flash into his mind. Maybe today is a Lupin day. He could imitate your angelic laughter as the whiskey burns his throat. He hides all of this with a nasty little smirk, elusive as ever as he lies through his teeth.

"Absolutely not."

You seem a bit disappointed at first, but before you can dwell on it too much, your thoughts flicker back to the phone call you realize it might be time to make. Your mood is instantly different. Hopeful, even. Dazai places your phone in your palm, slowly closing your hand into a small fist. His hand lingers on top of your knuckles for a second too long, and you realize you are, in fact, unable to keep looking him in the eye like this or else you might just collapse knowing he'd catch you. The concept alone is intoxicating.

"I'm gonna take this, okay?"

His smirk softens, almost boyish with the way he instantly relaxes and reverts back to his usual self. The mood shifts back to how it felt before, and Dazai nods in reassurance.

"You go get some air. I'll be here."

He waves you off as you flash him one last smile before exiting the office. That'll keep him going for a while, he thinks. You look so beautiful when you're full of life, he hopes it rubs off on him too. He stands there for a long time in deep thought, simply smiling at the floor. At some point your hair clip fell out without you noticing, and so he picks it up, pocketing it. He'll consider this the consummation of your relationship.

An hour passes by and you walk back into the office, eager to tell Dazai about your call back home and how refreshed you feel. That he was right, and you wanted to share this new found perspective that he helped you approach and conquer. You find the office is completely empty, and when your eyes glance at your desk, there's a sticky note left on one of the many trinkets you display on it. You read it out loud to yourself.

"You long for the past, so perhaps we can recreate it. Maybe a nice long walk by the river, or we could always try a more private solution.

Either way, I'm at your mercy.

- Osamu"

You can't help but want to kick your feet at the little heart he doodled next to his messy handwriting and make a mental note to properly give him your contact info next time. You'd make sure to take a call from him, because you know he'd make it worth your while.

He always does.

[robiinurheart33]

Ghost hates it when they’re alone.

Solo missions always just felt like something methodical. Kill the target, get out of there. Laswell in one ear, Shepard in the other. The same thing over and over again, until he dies. Then he met Soap. Soap, who touched him like it was nothing, burning over layers of clothes. Soap, who asked him if he preferred coffee or tea in the aircraft when he knows Ghost was actively trying to ignore him. Goddamn Soap, who was always there now, to bump his shoulder or ask him stupid questions.

Suddenly, there were stakes now. There was something to lose. Missions now felt like there was some kind of reward at the end of the tunnel, which was a laugh, pat on the shoulder with a “Nice job eh, LT?” In that horrid accent. It’s suffocating. It’s embarrassing. He wants more.

They’re currently on a stakeout, and Soap was supposed to be asleep 2 hours ago.

Ghost looks down the barrel of the telescope, watching as the target closes his blinds. He sits back up and glances over at Soap who plops into the seat across from him, a small book in his hand. The smell of their Chinese takeout and shared hotel soap is still strong in the air, and the moonlight shins in a way that just makes Johnny look radiant. His Mohawk is still wet from the shower he took, the collar of his shirt wet. Ghost imagines him shaking his head back and forth like a dog. Soap starts to twirl his pen around in a way that he knows sooner or later he’ll accidentally lose control and fling to the ground. It’s quiet.

Ghost looks back out the window, mentally letting himself relax slightly for the first time since they arrived. They’re okay, he thinks. They’re as safe as they can be at the moment. His eyes lock onto the closed window, watching a pigeon land on the windowstill and start picking its feathers. Soap starts jiggling his leg and ghost does not start counting how many times he twirls his pen.

10,11,12…

Soap looks at him then turns out the window. Ghost knows that he’s starting to get peckish, and the granola bar sitting in his pocket starts to burn against his thigh. Honestly, he’s always been aware of his teammate’s strange quirks. Soap picks at the scabs at the back of his neck when he’s nervous, Gaz has a killer poker face, but his palms will always have crescent indents. Price blinks quite fast and irrationally when he’s faced with an impossible situation, then never blinks when he’s focused.

20,21,22… Soap opens his journal.

He noticed it a few months into working together, internally scolding himself for not noticing sooner. Small little thing it is, ripped around the edges with papers almost falling out of it. Clearly well-loved. Ghost wonders if he’s been mentioned inside. He wonders if he notices Ghost just as much as he’s noticed him. If Johnny knows that he knows he only got the scar on his chin from a beloved childhood dog, Penny. That he bites his knuckles when he thinks he’s alone to help him concentrate better. That he once chugged a can of beans on a dare and he got 2 pounds from it. That he was from a Roman Catholic household and that his father was a dickhead. That he only shaved his mohawk when he was a FNG and desperately wanted to impress his friends. That pretty shade of pink his ears turn when he-

38,39,40…

Johnny clicks his pen open and starts to sketch.

The skktch of the pen now fills the silence between them, and Ghost can feel Soap’s attention zero in on him now. He turns his head around to watch him draw, his head hovering over the page. He can see his mask being sketched out, and his ears feel usually hot. It’s cute, really, that Johnny considers him something worthy to be drawn. But the thing is… it feels like he knows how to draw it. he’s sketching down his hard covered mask, which he isn’t even wearing right now, and he’s not glancing up to make sure it’s accurate to the real thing. He’s drawn ghost before.

He doesn’t know how to react to that.

Johnny’s head starts to bob closer and closer to the page now, and Ghost tries to push down a small smile. Soap looks back up and catches Ghost staring at him, but he doesn’t look away. He knows by now that if he wanted to say anything, he would’ve already said it.

Just as he expected, he breaks the silence first.

“…wha’?” You’re so cute.

“You’re looking at me.”

“Astute observation, LT. Is it still night time?” Little shit.

“Wha ‘ave you got for us?”

Johnny covers his journal, ears turning that fucking adorable shade of pink. His smile grows wider.

“ Didn’t know you got yourself a little diary.” he can hear the smile in his voice now, tries to smother it down a notch. Christ, it’s like he’s 16 all over again.

Soap tsks. “It’s a journal.”

he huffs. “Right.”

“Am’ no lying!” His accent thickens up like it usually does when he’s being defensive.

“Never said you were. Drawin’ me now?” He looks down at his hands covering the journal, and he just knows Soap’s face is flushed now.

“ Yer a good subject, never movin like a statue. It’s good for practicing my still life.” Johnny’s ring finger twitches.

Liar.

Simon looks back up at him again, and watches in real time as his pupils dilate, moving slightly as if savouring the moment. His throat gets all prickly, and is suddenly remembering now 42 ways to kill him with just a pen.

He decides to throw him a lifeline. he’s only a man after all.

“…. At least get my good side, Sargent.”

“Full o’ shite, you.” A chuckle.

Now he can breathe easier. Johnny rests his knee up against the table and places his journal on it, resuming. Simon huffs in faux annoyance, rolling his eyes before looking out the window again. He looks at Johnny out of the corner of his eye, and he knows that he’s aware by the small smile peeking from the corner of his lips. His eyes keep floating back to Johnny’s features, the way the moonlight hits his face, the perfect slope of his nose, his eyelashes, his eyes, god. he feels a bit dizzy. It’s like his whole life he’s been trying to suppress the urge to feel anything for anyone. And now, he’s feeling just way too much. Affection, tenderness, it never meant anything to him. It’s all he feels nowadays. It’s sickening.

Ghost hates it when they’re alone. Simon preens at the intimacy.

They fall back into comfortable silence, Johnny 2 hours and 30 minutes over his allotted time to sleep.

Soap’s pov

[lovesickeros]

now that natlan is out it's tsaritsa yearning hours again because i am one nation closer to either being horribly disappointed or foaming at the mouth!

creator!reader w a little side of conflicted tsaritsa is such good food I can't not yap about it. a woman who has dedicated so much of her life to severing herself from "love" of all kinds and succeeding and. just being so confident that when she meets you she's bitter and angry and mean. because she can't stand you. she isn't supposed to love yet you worm your way into her heart anyway and you don't even know it.

especially in smth like an imposter au. she tells herself your just a tool for her to use but your treated like the Divine you really are, pampered and spoiled every step. tells herself it means nothing when she indulges you – let's you hold her hand in private, eventually let's you move aside the veil, just a little.

and she hates it. hates how easy it is to let you break down the ice she's built up for years.

all you do is smile and she feels like she can't breathe. because despite how violently she rejects love in all aspects, it always bleeds through eventually. she despises it but the way you brush your thumbs over her cheeks makes her bitter and warm and it infuriates her to no end.

she hates you and she loves you and she can't stand you and if you were ever taken from her she'd destroy every inch of teyvat if she had to go get you back.

and ironically enough I think she'd also be the one to initiate any first kiss. maybe she's still trying to convince herself it's just a fluke and itll make her realize it meant nothing, it means nothing. desperate to fix whatever you've done to her and instead it just makes it worse.

a horrible mess of a woman who gave up on love just to be confronted with it when she finally accepted it's absence.

[atwentywhore]

GLADIATOR 2 WOULD’VE BEEN BETTER IF THERE WERE MEN KISSING

[coolestplaceintheworld]

be gentle with me i get overwhelmed easily

[inanoldhousewrites]

Geraskier makes me a little bit crazy because over the three seasons, it changes so much, but it's not very noticeable from an outsider's view.

Season 1, Jaskier is in love with Geralt, but Geralt is not in love with Jaskier, but Jaskier is trying to change Geralt's mind. He's optimistic. He keeps giving little lead-ins: "and yet here we are," "we could go to the coast," etc. Geralt never even looks that direction and in the end sends him away.

Season 2, Geralt is not in love with Jaskier, and Jaskier has decided not to be in love with Geralt. He's still his friend, that's inarguable, but he holds him at arm's length. He doesn't push in to be closer. They are friends and that's all.

Season 3 ends with Jaskier in love with Geralt and Geralt not in love with Jaskier. But this time, Jaskier seems to have accepted it. He's not trying to win Geralt's affections, he only wants to be with him, to help him however he can.

Their relationship has changed so much and the thing that gets me is that Geralt never seems to acknowledge it. Jaskier does, even Yennefer does, but Geralt doesn't. I'm so curious how they are going to move forward from here in season 4 and if it ever gets properly addressed.

[blurbfics]

There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part fourteen]

Summary: Eowyn finally opens up and apologizes, although not to he, who cannot bear the sight of her without the license to speak to her as he wishes to

Word Count: 7.3k+

Warnings: yearning, heavy angst, cursing, verbal attack, talk of MC death, brief talk of suicide, cis-heteronormative talk of reproduction,

Minors, do not interact

a/n: buckle up babies, this is a chunky one. also i apologize for the lack of az content, its was necessary for the plot. also apologize for the archaic female=baby producer talk, it was painful but i got through it. also there's probably a ton of mistakes, ill fix them tmr!

part thirteen

Masterlist

"If I was where I would be

Then I'd be where I am not

Here I am where I must be

Where I would be, I cannot"

Karen Dalton, Katie Cruel

NESTA POV

“Quicker! C’mon ladies, pick up the pace!”  

Nesta’s mate wasn’t one to be quick to anger.

That was a fact known to any who crossed his path, even those that were technically his people—the Illyrian generals and soldiers that hated him and reduced him to nothing but a bastard—knew that the Commander’s humor was just as dominating as his skin was thick, and if she was completely honest with herself, the few and far between instances where the priestesses managed to piss him off were incredibly amusing to her.  

And while most of the time Nesta would be quick to side with the priestesses to further annoy her mate and see that glint of promising darkness flicker in his eye when they caught hers, she found herself agreeing with his growing frustration as the murmuring among the priestesses continued throughout their morning session. 

It wasn’t uncommon for there to be light chatter as they worked out, in fact, it was an essential part of their training, but to whisper among themselves as they practiced their Valkyrie breathing techniques? Talk about disrespect. 

A growing sense of unease filled Nesta as she considered what they could be talking about. It had only been a few days since the Dinner of Nightmares, as she’d begun to mentally call it, and although the drama that unfolded had completely overtaken Nesta’s night, she didn’t think it had been quite as loud as to be whispered about so openly during their session, considering all the parties involved were currently keeping to themselves, attempting not to talk to or make eye contact with one another. 

Nesta had rushed to console Gwyn That Night, not before sending Cassian off to retrieve Emerie from Windhaven, only to find Gwyn completely shrunken within herself. It had taken Nesta a long while to convince Gwyn to let her into her room, and twice that amount to be able to break the silence Gwyn resolutely demanded— a long silence filled with the occasional sniffle that was only broken when Emerie stepped into the room to find Gwyn lying on her side, head resting on Nesta’s lap as the latter ran her fingers through her hair and Gwyn tossed tissue after tissue on the floor. 

With Gwyn’s permission (and occasional addition to Nesta’s story), Nesta told Emerie everything she had missed in the last few days she’d spent away at “Windhaven,” though they all knew she was spending time with Mor. 

Although no one but Gwyn knew the extent of Eowyn’s episode, Nesta and Emerie were overall aware that Eowyn had fallen ill, and that Gwyn had taken days off from her training to look after her.  

Nesta filled Emerie in in broad strokes, on how Eowyn told them she’d told Azriel about dinner and about his willingness to join. She admitted she herself hadn’t been aware it was a double date until right before dinner, having not been privy to the conversation between Eowyn and Gwyn, and how it all came to head when it was revealed that Azriel had attended dinner under the impression that he would be having dinner with Eowyn. 

Nesta didn’t reveal to Emerie how suspicious she herself had been of the entire situation. How try as she might to find even the subtlest slip from Eowyn’s countenance of any sort of displeasure or jealousy, she had been entirely and resolutely calm and peaceful. 

Now she wondered if she had mistaken cold detachment for that neutral tranquility. 

As was expected, Emerie was confused and dismayed by Eowyn’s actions but inquired no further when Gwyn began to sink further into herself at the mention of her deceit.  

Not long after Nesta’s brief update about the drama that had unfolded did She, The Unmentionable Herself, appear at the doorframe, slinking in just enough to linger in a fashion much too alike one of Azriel’s shadows that for a brief second, Nesta wondered how she’d never noticed that about her. How she seemed to almost slink from one place to another as if merely floating soundlessly above the floor, her long robes trailing after her like a chain of smoke. 

On any other circumstance, Nesta would’ve allowed herself to linger on the thought that perhaps the morose little provocateur was just perfect for the equally mysterious Spymaster. 

“Gwyn,” if there was something Nesta admired her, it was that she could be quite direct when she set her mind to it, even if she had severely fumbled their entire evening, “may I speak with you?” 

“No.”  

Gwyn left no room for argument and to her credit, Eowyn didn’t push. Other than a brief lingering moment, Eowyn nodded and stepped out, but not before stopping right past their door, turning her head only slightly to call over her shoulder, “whenever you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you with an apology and if perhaps not a justification for what I did... then perhaps only just an explanation.” 

Emerie and Gwyn said nothing as Eowyn walked away but Nesta being Nesta—having once been human (despite having reached only perhaps a fourth of the species’ average life), she was still young and perhaps not as learned in the practice of respectful space for meditation and self-collection— immediately, in a manner that only the blinding volatility of youth could provoke, chased after Eowyn, incensed and offended at her shit attempt for an apology, expecting Gwyn to come to her, when she was “ready”? As if she even deserved to be listened to?  

And with that purpose in mind, she stepped out and she let Eowyn know exactly what she thought about her. 

“And that’s all you have to say?” she demanded, pulling at her shoulder to make Eowyn face her before crossing her arms over her chest to stop herself from throttling her. 

“Gwyn doesn’t want to see me right now. I must respect that,” she spoke evenly and the way her voice was devoid of any emotion pissed Nesta off beyond anything else. 

“And what about me?” she directed her attention, “involving me in whatever the fuck that was?! Maybe Gwyn isn’t ready to see you, but I need to know why the fuck you would play with Gwyn and Azriel’s feelings like that?” 

Although most of her face was covered, the slit across her eyes allowed Nesta to see Eowyn's eyebrows furrow but her dark eyes fix directly into Nesta’s own, and something about the look of confusion in her eye irritated Nesta even more. 

Suddenly conscious of the fact that Gwyn was in the other room, she lowered her voice if only to hiss through her teeth, “you’re no idiot, Eowyn, you knew exactly what you were doing, you fucking snake. You knew damn well how Gwyn felt about him and you went behind her back and took him for yourself, didn’t you? And when it all came to a head, you what? You leave them both there to figure it out while you slink away like a coward? You lead Azriel on with your fucking dates in the greenhouse, and then turn around and encourage your friend—who welcomed you with wide open arms, might I fucking remind you—and convince her she has a shot with the male you’ve been fucking this entire time?” 

Eowyn, however, only stood in place and just... took it. Without even the slightest attempt at defending herself, or even correcting Nesta when she began to spiral off to clearly outrageous accusations, she simply stood and waiting for Nesta to stop. 

Outraged at her silence when she took a second to breathe, Nesta opened her mouth to continue her barrage of accusations and abuse only to be interrupted by Eowyn, who calmly said, “I’m not fucking him.” 

Nesta raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth once again to interrogate her about the rest of her crimes, when Eowyn spoke once again, “and no, I wasn’t leading either of them on. Not intentionally. My relationship with Azriel has always been intimate, but strictly platonic,” she looked away from her eyes then as she looked out into nothing for a moment, a strange look coming to her eye, one that was akin to confusion but settled somewhere close to doubt, before she continued, “I also didn’t mean to lie to Gwyn, I- I admit I didn’t have the courage to ask Azriel directly how he felt about her, but I didn’t consider the possibility of him not liking her enough to give them a chance, I-” the expression on her face shifted for a brief moment and Nesta saw, for the first time, a flash of pain flicker across her eyes, “I hadn’t realized Azriel still had feelings for Elain.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Nesta asked, her tone still indignant, but containing a hint of confusion, “Elain is with Lucien... Az used to have a thing for her but she never gave him the time of day.” 

“They were together,” she looked at Nesta with so much firm certainty in her eye that it gave Nesta pause, “the only reason Elain refused her bond with Lucien for so long was because of Azriel... I’ve seen them, they were in love, but now she’s with him and I thought that perhaps someone like Gwyn would be good for Azriel. I thought... I think they would be good together.” 

And the way her voice slipped from a doubtless surety into an airy sort of whimsical yet fickle manner shocked Nesta to her core, filling her with so much confusion and lingering ire that she fell into lasting silence as she searched for the words to say. 

Taking her silence as... well she didn’t know what exactly, Eowyn simply nodded her head briefly and murmured something under her breath before turning and walking away to her own chamber. If Nesta noticed that Eowyn’s usually sable eyes were slightly glossier, slightly lighter, she didn’t linger on the thought. 

“Alright, that’s it.” 

Pulling herself back from her reverie, Nesta turned discreetly to look at the subject of her ruminations only to see Eowyn seamlessly blending into the group of priestesses stretching and breathing upon instruction, before turning her gaze to her mate who sighed in irritation. 

“I’m getting sick of this—what's with the chatter today, ladies?” 

He arranged some of them around, grumbling under his breath at having to do so as if they were children that needed to be separated from his friends, but when he discovered that doing so only fed the flames of their burning hot gossip, he called them out by name, “Seriously Roslin? And what about you Ilana—alright, someone fess up, what’s gotten you all so wired huh?” 

“Hasn’t the High Lord told you?” Gwyn’s voice called out by her place next to Nesta and Emerie, and despite the rough past couple of days she’d been going through, she sounded remarkably composed and perhaps a smidge excited. “The Mother’s Alignment is approaching.” 

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” Cassian asked, although not unkindly. 

“Well, we only ever get to see the planets align every seven hundred and forty-five years, you know. Obviously, I haven’t had the privilege myself-” she started in her typical Gwyn-like way, and it was such a relief to see her come back to herself that no one bothered to interrupt her, “-but Priestess Sonya says its beautiful. The position of the planets allows for our moon to shine almost violet for a short amount of time. I read an article in Merril’s books that-” 

“We get the point Gwyn,” Nesta attempted to tease her, but her grin was so great and genuine that Gwyn could only grin back and laugh good naturedly. 

“Sorry!” she shrugged her shoulders, “my point is that each Temple performs a sacred ritual. An ordination type of thing, where we elect a priestess that becomes.... Mother blessed,” she sighed dreamily. 

“And that’s what gotten you all so worked up?” Cassian scanned their faces with a curiously upturned eyebrow, “what is it? A competition for the spot or...?” 

“Of course not,” Gwyn replied immediately, “the position clearly belongs to Clotho. We’re only excited because it’s such a grand event. Not luxurious, but-” she struggled to find the words, “celebratory. It’s.... important to us.” 

“Can I come?” Nesta asked without thinking, finding herself charmed by Gwyn’s description and wanting nothing more but to see them offer Clotho a place of honor which she undoubtedly deserved. 

“Of course!” Gwyn looked at her as if in surprise that she had to ask, “you’re all welcome. I know we’re expecting the High Lord and Lady to make an appearance,” and if Nesta hadn’t been watching her so closely she would’ve missed the quick glance she shot in Eowyn’s direction. 

“I’m sure it slipped his mind to tell us,” Cassian pacified, pulling himself away from the conversation, “alright, everyone find yo-” 

“But you will be there, right?” Gwyn insisted, and Nesta didn’t miss the way her eyes turned to Eowyn once more. She also didn’t miss the fact that the Shadowsinger himself was raptly observing the same thing she did. 

And then he spoke up. 

“We prefer not to enter the library unless invited in by Clotho herself,” Azriel spoke up and while Nesta scowled at his insistence to defend Eowyn although no one had even mentioned her, something deep down within her found it sweet, even if she drowned the feeling with righteous anger.  

“Clotho only just sent word of the arrangements to the High Lord this morning,” Eowyn spoke evenly, unperturbed by Gwyn’s intensity and Azriel’s words. “I’m sure you’ll find yourselves notified soon enough. And you two,” she turned to Nesta and Emerie, “are always welcome to join us.” 

While Cassian tried to control the flood of excited conversations that Gwyn sparked, as Emerie peppered her with questions and the priestesses all took turns describing their attire for the ceremony, Nesta kept an eye out for the two sulking storm clouds—she watched Azriel’s attention close in on Eowyn, who took that moment to take a sip from her flask of water. Azriel looked enraptured, seeming unable to look away, as Eowyn lifted her veil slightly, expertly unlatching it from the bottom with a soft click from the magnetic trim that held it in place when she made brisk movements.  

From her occasional gossiping with her mate, she’d discovered that Azriel had never seen Eowyn’s face, and being the nosy person that she was, she had no shame in admitting, if only to herself, that she often watched him whenever Eowyn unveiled her face to take a sip of water, wondering if that day would be the day he dared to look at her. 

Not once had he dared to do so, always offering her privacy but now, as if frozen in place, it seemed he simply could not tear his eyes away. 

Nesta watched him stare at Eowyn, who’s head wasn’t entirely revealed other than the skin of her neck and jaw, yet that seemed to be enough for the Shadowsinger, considering he hadn’t looked at her for more than half a second before he quickly looked away with a sharp breath. And just like that, with low murmur of something undecipherable under his breath to Cassian, he took off into the skies and flew away from them. 

Nesta turned back to look at Eowyn to find her looking after the Spymaster, a rare and brief look of regret crossing her eyes before she turned her attention back to her flask and continued on with her workout. 

A realization came to Nesta then. One that followed her through the rest of training and paved the way for a course of action. 

- 

The curious scene that had been privy only to Nesta’s eyes replayed in her mind for the remainder of their morning training, and no sooner had Cassian called out for them to finish their sets and head on out, than had she rushed to his side to say (or demand, Cassian would argue, though they both knew she merely had to say the words for him to follow at her beck and call) that he was allowed back into their bed that night. 

The news brought so much glee to Cassian that he didn’t even think about resisting her the complete and honest truth when she asked, “have you talked to Azriel recently?” 

He gave her a look that caused her to roll her eyes, already knowing what he would say. “You think Azriel’s gonna talk to anyone about his feelings?” 

“I had to ask,” she huffed, “can you take me to the River House?” 

“Is that the only reason why you want to make up?” 

Nesta and Cassian had gotten into a rather heated spat that led to her banishing him out of their room for a few nights. Cassian had argued that she should’ve known better than to trick Azriel into a double date the way they had, when they all knew damn well that he was in love with Eowyn, while she argued that she had no part to play in their damn date until she’d been roped in at the last minute. 

Although by that time she had already given Eowyn a piece of her mind, she couldn’t help but defend her as she argued with her mate, assuming that there was some reason, a significant reason for why Eowyn would throw away something that was so clear and obvious for them all to see.  

She didn’t blame Gwyn for her blind infatuation with Azriel. She had put him on an unattainable pedestal after he had essentially saved her all those years ago and had then killed everyone that had wronged her. And then her interactions with him since the beginning of training—her having discovered that he gifted her a beautiful necklace (that was supposed to be anonymous)—and him having accepted her gift with such a gallant smile and genuine thanks, was fuel enough for her first ever infatuation.  

But Eowyn.. 

Eowyn had been a true friend. At no point did she ever seem or sound jealous of the way Gwyn spoke about Azriel, leaving Nesta to wonder if she was simply a terrible judge of character or Eowyn was much too good at deceiving them all. Which begged the question: what else had the priestess lied about? 

“Of course not,” she smirked at her mate, but being too pleased that he could hold her again, Cassian only chuckled at her and swept her off her feet, not even bothering to ask why she wanted to visit her sister all of a sudden, when she typically hated to go there, and she didn’t bother telling him what wasn’t his business to know. Unless... 

“Did you know Az and Elain were together?” she asked in his ear as he flew over the streets, still high above the trees. 

He took a double take and the look on his face told her all she needed to know. “Cassian,” she reprimanded him, “what the fuck? You knew and didn’t tell me?” 

“Well! I mean- your sister didn’t tell you!” 

“But you’re my mate,” she pinched him. 

He only grinned at her, glancing at her quickly before looking before him as he began to descend, “say that again.” 

“Not the time,” she pinched him again, “I can’t believe you.” 

“Look,” he tried to appease her, “he didn’t want anyone to know. And Rhys didn’t either, I mean he was the one who told Az to back off in the first place.” 

“What!” she gasped. Jumping away from him as soon as they landed half a mile away from the house. 

“Mhm, right after Helion recognized Lucien as his son and heir, Rhys threatened Az to back off or he’d exile him from the Court. Az was...” he trailed off and at the encouraging look she gave him, he could only sigh and look at her apprehensively, glancing at the great house behind her. 

“Tell me,” she crossed her arms. 

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t want you to see him differently.” 

“I wouldn’t,” she promised, “not unless he hurt Elain.” 

He shook his head, “Az was... he says he was in love with her, and I think part of him really did love her, but—and I’ve never said this to him, so this stays between you and me—I think Az was in love with the idea of them being together more than Elain herself,” and when Nesta remained silent, if perhaps thoughtful, he concluded, “you know... three sisters for three brothers.” 

She remained silent for a moment, reminiscing every interaction she’d seen her sister have with the Shadowsinger. She knew of his feelings for her, and from her limited perception, it seemed like a crush that didn’t seem to grow and simply fizzled out into the back of their minds. 

“That’s stupid,” she shook her head. 

“Is it?” he prodded gently, “if you were him wouldn’t you feel... I don’t know, left out?” 

“Azriel isn’t entitled to my sister,” she defended, glaring at him. 

“Never said he was,” he raised his arms in surrender, “I’m just telling you what I know.” 

She remained silently thoughtful as they walked towards the house, but she didn’t push him away when he slipped his hand into hers and covered her from the cold with his wing as they stepped past the gates. 

After The Dinner of Nightmares, ever since that night she yelled at Eowyn, she had spent the following days observing her with a newfound perspective. Despite considering Eowyn’s faults and crimes to fall within the Epic kind of category, she had not forgotten the way she had seemed particularly exhausted lately, the dark circles under her eyes, the way she often drifted off to something or another, or the way she’s spoken so bizarrely when she had confronted her that night. 

Her impromptu visit to the River House cost her a few hours spent around a luncheon she hadn’t meant to stay for, accompanied as she was by her two sisters, their mates, and her brother-in-law's brother who was as charming as he was beautiful, but whose particular wiles didn’t work on her. 

Nesta watched her sister intently, watching as she basked in the attention afforded to her by her lively mate, who took every opportunity to praise her aloud and look at her with so much devoted attention that it took everything in her not to roll her eyes at their cheesy display of affection. 

Noting her clear aversion to their display, Eris smirked at her as he teased his brother and sister-in-law, bringing the attention back to himself as he asked Nesta about her “cute little hobby” Elain had gushed so much about. 

When Nesta shrugged and said she was doing better than him, he merely laughed and wondered aloud when he would be invited to join in their morning training, that is, unless the Commander of Rhysand’s great army felt in any way threatened? 

Holding her mate back from hurling himself across the table at Eris’s throat, Nesta managed to pacify her mate and brush Eris’s taunts away without so much as a blink of an eye. 

After lunch and as they all mingled lightly in the resting room, Nesta finally managed to single out Elain and derive from her own mouth everything she wanted to know. 

- 

Walking down the library doors had never felt as ominous or forbidding as it did at that moment, and Nesta had dealt with quite a lot when it came to the inner workings of the library. 

Pushing the eerie feeling that tickled at her neck, she gathered herself and knocked once, twice in rapid succession at Eowyn’s dark office door. She was still inside, she could see, as the flickering flame inside her frosted glass window revealed her silhouette pacing back and forth. 

The dark mass stilted briefly before she spoke out, “come in.” 

Twisting the knob, Nesta pushed her way into Eowyn’s office and immediately, the scent of Eowyn hit her: slightly floral mixed with the specific scent of something she could only describe as woodsy, almost like... the pages of an old book that had been left out on a porch in a rainy day. She didn’t smell like a garden the way Elain did, as she smelled distinctively like jasmine and honey—no, Eowyn smelled like the sweetest notes of wet soil. 

As strange as that sounded. 

Pushing her thoughts away before she started waxing poetry, Nesta looked at Eowyn head on, as she stood in the miniscule space in her office, her face completely uncovered within the privacy of her room. 

“Hello,” Eowyn broke the silence, and the way she spoke almost in question would’ve made Nesta snicker in any other occassion if she wasn’t in a hurry to get to the point. 

“I didn’t know Elain and Azriel were together,” she replied immediately, “she never told me. And he never tells anyone anything, so..” 

Eowyn grimaced, “I’m sorry if I caused you any problems by telling you... I can’t quite keep track of what I am and am not supposed to know.” 

“Yeah, about that, what the fuck are you talking about?” Nesta wasn’t going to hold back anymore... not that she had before.  

“I-” Eowyn’s shoulders suddenly slagged as she ran her hands down her face, “I’m so fucking tired of all of this.” 

Nesta raised an eyebrow and tried not to gape, not used to seeing Eowyn this way. 

“Okay,” she nodded once, “alright, well I probably didn’t start this the right way. Let’s take a seat and talk this through, alright?” 

“Alright,” Eowyn grumbled, and Nesta found herself sitting down, rather flabbergasted at the sudden reversal of roles, as she had intended on striding into Eowyn’s office with all the righteousness that the newly acquired information gave her. She had expected Eowyn to fall into step with her in her usual calm manner but this Eowyn... she was different. 

And for once, Nesta felt inclined to let her take charge and see her for who she really was. 

“Do you want coffee?” 

“What’s coffee?” 

“It’s like a type of black tea,” Eowyn explained immediately, the words almost rehearsed as if she’s said them thousands of times, “they’re grounded beans that brew in hot water. You can add milk and sugar to your liking,” she poured a dark liquid into a teacup before her before serving herself her own. 

“It was often called the drink of the Gods in older times. It’s quite hard to obtain today, and the demand for it isn’t very high. We’ve all grown quite fond of our teas.” 

“I’m not here for a history lesson,” Nesta reminded her, although she voice lacked its edge, the aroma filling her senses warmed her beyond what she expected. Tentatively, she took a sip from the dark liquid, before grimacing at its bitter taste. 

“Adjust,” Eowyn beckoned to the milk and sugar, making her own coffee by adding a dash of milk and half a spoonful of sugar. She sighed and took a seat behind her desk, “you’ll have to excuse my erratic behavior... I haven’t been myself lately.” 

“Does this have to do with you being sick all those days ago?”  

“Yes,” she admitted, casting her eyes to her desk for a moment of consideration before bringing them back to hers, “I have a secret, you see. Until now, I’ve only told Clotho and Azriel... but I expect he told the High Lord by now. I’d rather you hear it directly from me than in some kind of council meeting.” 

“What is it?” Nesta’s eyebrows furrowed. 

Eowyn pursed her lips. Looking at Nesta straight on, she took a sharp inhale before speaking, “I’m a witch. Not a very... good one, if I’m being honest, but unfortunately for me, I’m a particularly powerful one-” 

“Wait wait wait,” Nesta interrupted her immediately, “a witch? Aren’t witches extinct? Or old wretched creatures lurking in the forest to curse men and suck virgins blood?” 

“Surely you’re not afraid of witches?” 

Nesta gaped at her, and her lack of response made Eowyn raise an eyebrow. “If witches kill men and suck virgin’s blood, then you’re far from being in danger, aren’t you?” 

Nesta glared.  

“To answer your question, yes, we exist... although there’s not many of us left. Those that remain have to learn to be blend in.” 

“But you-” Nesta interrupted herself, raising a hand in the air to process everything told to her so far, and it was only the tip of the iceberg, “you said you’re a powerful one? Yeah okay, someone seems full of themselves-” 

“Trust me, I wish it wasn’t the case,” Eowyn rolled her eyes and the action seemed to pain her, as she reclined in her chair, her propped arm allowing her to rub her temples between her middle finger and thumb. “As I was saying, I come from a long line that is thought to descend directly from the Mother, who, if you didn’t know, was the creator and original wielder of the Cauldron, yes, that Cauldron—they always leave that detail out of the stories—but I digress. According to my family history, which has been made up of only male descendents for thousands of years, the... prophecy spoke of a female born to that cursed line, for the Mother’s power was so great, it was only meant to stay with her. 

“She created all life within our world— but to create something with her own power or with the assistance of a cauldron, was all together too different from actually bearing life herself—for the Mother had made a mistake, you see. She fell in love. 

“There were other forms of life, of magic, already engrained in the soil of the earth. Some call them entities, some call them nature gods, but if the legends are to be believed, the Mother found companionship with one of these gods and soon bore a different species, not unlike the fae she had created, but also not entirely different from the beldam creatures that lurk in the depths of the forests. The Mother was punished by her own magic for dishonoring her duty to create life, so as she birthed her child, the line was cursed to produce only male heirs to diminish the potency of its seed, lest a female be born to carry the power to birth and thus create life—or magic��as she pleased.” 

Nesta only listened as Eowyn spoke, the lilt of her voice soothing and calm as if she was caught in a reverie, lost in the description of her lore. Nesta was enraptured by the story, yet she was not so lost that she didn’t feel the growing sense of alarm at her revelation. 

But then Eowyn’s eyes caught hers and she didn’t look away as she revealed more—about her father’s quest to have a female child because some Seer told him his seed would bring forward The Mother’s female descendent—and how he disregarded his dozen children in favor of the power he believed Eowyn to bring him. 

Nesta learned that she had been named Oracle at birth—the name an intangible ball and chain, a designation and a reminder of her lack of will—yet Eowyn had always been headstrong and intelligent, even as a child, and before she was a mere decade old, she had renounced the name and bade everyone to call her Eowyn. 

Her brothers—those that tolerated her presence—called her Wynnie, while the rest (and her father) called her by a name she did not want and could not embrace, for she wanted nothing more than a life of her own. She didn’t want to be subjected to a role, to be considered an idol, a mere symbol for followers to project their wishes and pleas, and consequently, their hatred and blame when she could not oblige them. 

She wanted to be a person. One with opinions, both right and wrong, she wanted to have friends she could laugh with, to make memories with, wanted to have people to talk to, to cry with and fight with. She wanted to flirt and make love; she wanted to fuck everyone she wanted and be desired in return, not for her power... but for herself. 

Hence, the desire for this life resulted in the utter rejection of the one forced upon her and anything involving it.  

She admitted she didn’t know the extent of her powers, always considering them a burden rather than a gift, and as soon as she learned the way to get rid of them, she hadn’t hesitated to do so in favor of what she believed would bring her freedom. 

One of her brothers, the second-born, only a few decades older than her, helped her with this. 

After finding a way to transmit her power into something tangible, something natural and significant—something made of the natural strength of the earth with the capacity to be both strong and brittle, both dark and sharp—she relinquished her magic and left that life behind to seek her own.  

“You can’t blame me for wanting that. Or for trying.” 

“Of course not,” Nesta shook her head, “you deserved a chance at a life of your choosing.” 

Eowyn nodded slowly, “then I hope it provides you a bit of context to the rest of it. Before that, though, I just want to say sorry... I didn’t mean to throw you into the wolves the way I did, and I didn’t mean to hurt anyone by my actions—especially Gwyn. 

“I didn’t tell you my story as any sort of justification for what I did. I just hope it... provides a bit of perspective as to where my mind has been. For the past year, I’ve been plagued with a heightened storm of visions and voices. You see, although I- well, essentially locked away my powers —I couldn’t rid myself of them entirely, as some remnants of it lingers. 

“For years now I’ve been almost void of anything—of my power, yes, but also of any connection with life. In the past year, my visions of past, present, and future have increased, my need for horticulture has intensified, and I often feel as if I am not within my own body. I joined the morning training thinking it could help me form a routine for my excess stress and energy, I thought I just needed to do something to get myself out of the growing madness, but all I’ve done is get involved with- with- these feelings that I don’t even know how to recognize anymore.” 

By now her tone had shifted from a sincere yet collected plea for understanding to a desperate woe. Her dark eyes fixed on Nesta and despite Nesta’s fortitude, despite the iron will that allowed her to look at the King of Hybern in the eye and spit in the face of death, she was caught like an animal in a trap as Eowyn’s eyes met hers. 

“Can you imagine feeling nothing for decades and then being hit all at once with all of these overwhelming emotions? At first, it was simple. The feeling of fondness for you, for Gwyn and Emerie, and even Cassian, was easy. It came as second nature. But then Azriel slinked his way in, and- and for a long time I tried to convince myself that he was no more special to me than any of you were. There was nothing in particular that set him apart from you all, except that everything set him apart. 

“From his way of knowing me. And his manner of trying to understand everything he didn’t already know as if I was the greatest unresolved riddle,” she chuckled at that, but as her eyes dropped to the wooden floorboard, Nesta noticed her eyes filled with unshed tears. “as if he hasn’t seen more of me than anyone else without even seeing my face once... as if I was still worth knowing at all...” 

“Eowyn,” Nesta began, for although she didn’t approve of the way she’d gone about the whole ordeal, she didn’t consider her undeserving of love. Quite the opposite, in fact. Although she’d always secretly thought her and Azriel made a good looking couple, she now knew there was no one else for her than the surly dark male that could understand her darkness better than anyone else. “Eowyn, you are worth-” 

“Not that way,” she shook her head, “I’ve been hurt beyond what you can imagine,” Eowyn stood up, and the way she clasped at her hands in front of her, anxiously scratching at her palms told Nesta that she spoke about that which she always left unspoken. 

“Nesta, I can—I can barely breathe around all these feelings,” she continued after a moment, still trying to gather herself as she clutched at her chest at the phantom feeling, “you have to understand, there was nothing left of me for decades. I was a shell of a person. Here, but never really present, like I had- had this helmet over my head, muffling everything around me and even when I wanted to care, I simply couldn’t, and then...” she took a deep breathe, “... and then he offered me an exchange- a transaction. Something simple and equal, and something that required no socializing to fit in, no pretending, it was just a simple truth. Just to take as much of myself as I would give him, even if it was just my age and my place of birth, and he gave me so much in return and I-” 

She swallowed thickly and Nesta had to look away to offer her a moment of privacy, the emotions on her face too intimate, too raw for her to gawk at. 

“Nesta, I-” she trailed off and when she didn’t continue, Nesta could only nod in understanding. How could it be that this person, this being that not only exuded power and knowing, but truly was a force to be reckoned with, could suffer through the same trouble she, a mere formerly human girl, had dealt with just a few months ago? 

Although, of course, Eowyn’s troubles were complex in a different way and had lasted decades and even centuries compared to Nesta’s few months of drinking and fucking in attempt to forget her change in life—alas, this bit was the same.  

She was an emotionally stunted creature that couldn’t admit to herself to being in love with, much less could detect reciprocal love, in an Illyrian warrior that would burn the world and everyone in it for just a mere moment of her time. 

So as her friend couldn’t bring herself to say it, Nesta said it for her. “You love him.” 

Eowyn evaded her gaze for the first time since Nesta walked into her office. 

“These voices I hear, those I can deal with... but the visions I got when, when the herbalist drugged me,” she began to speak so fast that Nesta couldn’t stop and ask what herbalist and what drugging she was talking about, “they kept showing me images of- of everything. Things that have happened, things that could happen, and through them I saw two possible fates for him,” she pressed her lips together and the line that formed in the skin between her eyes told her it pained her to recollect her memories, “I saw a vision of the future... of him and Elain never fully letting go of one another, despite her bond with her mate. I saw... years of yearning, of suffering, and desire shared between them until they both finally gave in,” she spoke as if it had already happened, “I saw them begin an affair behind Lucien’s back that lasted years before he ever noticed, which only happened to be after taking Helion’s place as High Lord of the Day Court, but-” she stopped briefly, inhaling sharply, “by then Lucien’s power was too great, even for the Spymaster of the Night Court, and he-and he died. I saw him die,” the way she looks at Nesta is with such an ancient primal fear and pain that all Nesta has to do is look at her to realize that the visions were not just mere images and impartal knowledge—Eowyn lived through those visions. She saw and felt everything. 

But Eowyn is not yet done. Looking away from Nesta, she continued, “for your sister... the guilt and loss was so great that she took her own life within the year.” 

Nesta swallowed around a thick ball of emotion lodged in her throat, wanting to say that those visions were only that, visions that hadn’t happened and were unlikely to happen, yet she finds herself voiceless. 

“You’ll understand why I preferred the other fate I saw. Much simpler and peaceful...” she trailed off, and somehow Nesta knows in her bones that the vision was indescribably painful for her, if perhaps only slightly less than the alternative, “his life with Gwyn... both kind and loyal individuals... perhaps different from each other, but no less understanding and loving. Azriel would be Gwyn’s greatest love, like the one she reads in her novels, and she would be his anchor, his wife and lifelong companion. She would be the star guiding him through the dark and their children-” her voice hitched, but she merely stopped herself for a second to collect herself, jaw working as she forced herself to continue, “their lives will be plentiful and beautiful and everything they both deserve.” 

And what about you? Nesta finds herself wanting to yell at her, what about what you deserve? 

But Nesta didn’t push and didn’t say all the things she wanted to say in fear of driving Eowyn back into her shell. Instead she clasped tightly onto the edge of her seat and said the only sensible thing that came to mind. “I think it’s time you spoke to Gwyn,” and then reconsidered. “That is, whenever you feel ready” 

Despite looking exhausted, Eowyn agreed, noting that she never would be ready for that conversation, so there was no difference doing it now. 

- 

In a span of half an hour, Cassian had retrieved Emerie from her home in Windhaven and delivered her safely at the library’s doors. Soon, all four females found themselves in their favorite gossip nook, each taking their place in different spots.  

Nesta stood, leading against the brick wall closest to the magically eternal fireplace, while Emerie sat on the floor, one leg extended and the other bent to rest her chin on as she leaned back against the couch where Gwyn primly sat, hands folded on her lap as she watched Eowyn intently and didn’t say a single word. 

Sitting on her own armchair facing them, Eowyn shared her full life story for the second time in her entire life. Although she omitted her jumbled and confusing feelings for the Shadowsinger towards the end, and the visions that had spurred her to push Azriel and Gwyn together without their explicit understanding of the situation, she found herself opening up about her abuse. 

At that, Nesta had walked around the tea table to sit closer, listening just as intently as Emerie and Gwyn as Eowyn spoke, never once interrupting her. 

The end of her story garnered her not only sympathy and understanding from her friends, but provided them with a different lens through which they now saw her. Accepting that change in exchange of their forgiveness, however, Eowyn took it in stride. 

It was only at the end, when Gwyn’s glassy yet still hurt eyes locked on hers. “I just have one question.... it’s been eating at me these last few days, making me feel like an absolute fool for not noticing sooner.” 

Eowyn swallowed but nodded, encouraging her to continue. 

“Are you and—were you and Azriel together?” 

Looking at each other in pain, although for different reasons, Eowyn’s eyes didn’t falter as she spoke, “no. Azriel and I weren’t together, and we never will be.”

taglist: @lilah-asteria , @a-courtof-azriel , @honk4emoboyz , @feyretopia , @mrsjna , @buttermilktea11 , @bravo-delta-eccho , @kylieinwonderland , @adventure-awaits13 , @he6rtshaker , @naturakaashi ,

[dukeofdelirium]

In complete honesty, I kind of wish that Stranger Things would have just been two high quality seasons. They should have let El die in S1, and then focused on Mike, Will, and the origins of the Upside Down in S2. At this point, the story has been dragged on for so long, and, if S5 fails to recontextualize a lot of things from S3 and S4, there was a lot of unnecessary filler that just weighed the entire show down.

I agree with this pretty heavily. It’s obvious that they dragged storylines out and didn’t have everything completely plotted by how dysfunctional s3 and 4 are in comparison with s1 and 2. It almost feels like two completely different shows. When s3 first aired, I almost didn’t finish it because I hated it that much. S4 was pretty similar tbh… the NINA plotline and the Russian shit was so terrible that me and my sister debated skipping the scenes I’m not even kidding lol. Literally the only thing that kept us watching vol 2 was any crumb of Mike and Will scenes and then seeing what happened with Max. That was fr it. The second we finished vol 2 we immediately turned off the tv and then started shit talking it 😂 we were NOT impressed lol.

The Russian plot was dumb as fuck in s3, and it was even worse in s4. Literally the dumbest thing this show ever tried to pull and comes across as more unbelievable than inter-dimensional monsters lol. Idgaf about the Russian fuckery. It’s fucking stupid as hell and I can feel myself losing braincells in real time whenever I have to rewatch scenes of it. Idgaf about the NINA bullshit, when the hell are we gonna move on from this dumb lab/rainbow room/Papa nonsense and get to shit that really matters?

The whole Russian thing is actually what makes the Hawkins lab and stuff dumb lol bc it went from the American gov being the enemy to now suddenly it’s evil Russians like stfu get out of here with this nonsense I cantttttt

And don’t even get me started on the dumb relationship drama in s3. If I wanted to watch a show about middle schoolers making out I wouldn’t be looking for it in stranger things, that’s first of all. Second of all, none of this has any depth and the only reason it matters in any context is to develop Byler and their rain scene is one of the only memorable scenes of the season. Idgaf about hopper and Joyce acting like 12 year olds. Idgaf about Billy’s wack ass redemption. Idgaf that El raises her hand and screams for the billionth time or that she loses her powers cuz guess what… she gets them back. *pretends to be shocked*

Fr, s5 has to recontextualize multiple seasons or else this show will have been a huge disappointment. S4 was ok. But as I said, that’s all it was. Okay. Not great. Not even necessarily good. Just meh. The only good parts were the Hawkins group with Max (she was the best part of the season) and then Mike and Will’s scenes. That’s literally it lmao. The Russian plot? Dumb. El and the NINA shit? Dumb. Yawn, don’t care. Let me spend time with characters I care about please and thank you.

I long for the return of s2 quality….. when Mike realizes Will is compromised and that he’s the spy and Will sends all those soldiers to their gruesome deaths…. come on that was peak cinema. Bring it back. I miss it…. we were a country once

[sweetheart-headspace]

when you remember that marriage isn't some sort of binding of the souls and husbands still are very much capable of cheating on their spouses