#iwcb!fic

[fairyysoup]

Hey bestie, no pressure but do you know when we will be getting part three of It Will Come Back? I’m foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.

ummmmm tbh i only have an idea of what's gonna happen in it and i haven't started writing it yet so. anyone's guess. the voices will tell me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ sorry if that's not the best news but she will be finished some time

[the-scribe-and-her-scribbles]

iwcb | chapter 12. how to be a convincing beggar

it will come back | chapter 12. how to be a convincing beggar | fae!prussia x reader 

it will come back Masterlist and Summary

chapter summary: You think of all that's happened, and prepare for what needs to be done.

word count: 3.6k

content warnings: none

(if you want to be added to the tagging list, please reply to this fic or message me)

(In philosophy, the question of nature vs. nurture is often asked. Are we who we are because of DNA, or is it our environment that forms us into who we are? In your academic opinion, it's probably both. 

You come from a long line of intellectuals, starting with your father’s mother. Growing up in the 50s, her access to education was restricted. Despite expectations from everyone around her to get married to her childhood sweetheart and have children right after high school, she instead went to get her masters in folklore. She joined the faculty of a prestigious university to teach literature and folklore analysis and opened the family bookshop in retirement. Your father inherited her love of books, either by nature or nurture. 

Your mother was also involved in academia in the 80s and met your dad in that bookshop as she joined the same university his mother worked at as an English professor. The rest, of course, was history. 

You do not doubt that the genetics you inherited from both sides of your family had a say in your intelligence, but the way they raised you moulded you into who you are. You remember spending time after school in the shop, doing your homework at the front counter as your dad talked with a customer. You can still smell the powdery musk that filled the aisles of bookshelves. 

You remember visiting your mom’s office at the university, and the TAs and professors taking you around the campus, allowing you to sit in on lectures and play in the rows of seats while your mother taught. 

You remember the books your grandmother would give you for birthdays when you were little. She gifted you your first copy of the Chronicles of Narnia, Frankenstein, and Dracula, and a plethora of Jane Austens. She still sent you things in the mail while you were away at university. Even when you moved to a different town for university, despite her and your mother’s wish for you to go to the one where they use to work. Every month or so, a book wrapped in brown paper, and decorated with dried flowers, ink stamps, and familiar cursive writing would show up in your mailbox.

You are a scholar because of them. You love to read because they read to you every night of your childhood. They are your home, your safe place. There is nowhere you’d rather be than sitting at the dining table with your parents, or sitting in the floral-patterned living room of your grandma’s home. 

That is why you know in your heart, that you have to get back to them again.)

You close the door to the library behind you and scurry down the hallway. Your hair and clothes are dishevelled. Your lips feel swollen and tingly and your face is hot with embarrassment. 

 God, you are an idiot. A stupid, ridiculous idiot, you mutter to yourself as you all but run down the dimly lit hallway. You blink away the harsh sting of tears and try to cool down. 

You reach the room Francis had you set your stuff in earlier. It has a beautifully-carved white bed with four posts and a sheer canopy. There’s a lit fireplace in the corner and blankets piled at the end of the bed. You sigh. 

As you lay in bed, listening to the crackle of the fire and staring up at the ceiling, you think of many things. 

You think of Gilbert. Your skin still tingles when you do. Unlike the safety you felt with your family, Gilbert makes you feel as if you were in a free fall. He looks at you and smiles, sharp and cunning and you feel a great tightness in your chest, so strong your heart could burst. You couldn’t deny that he had grown on you over the past five days. 

He’s done more than grow on you, you can’t help but think. Gilbert has all but taken a dagger and carved a space for himself inside you. You feel like an idiot, but it’s true. His quick wit and confidence, the pure intelligence and cunning had warmed him to you, and his strength, his softness, the way he comforted you and protected you has only made you like him more. 

So in the library moments ago, you let him kiss you. Even if it was a terrible idea, even though you knew that something between you could never possibly work, you had threaded your hands into his star-spun hair and kissed him back. 

Gilbert kissed you like he was drowning. Like you were his only source of air. He held you between his hands like he never wanted to let you go. 

“Please, stay,” he had said, and god, you had almost said yes. 

You felt the thrumming, the warm pull that Elizabeta warned you about. When your foreheads were pressed together and your breaths mingled in the air between you, you had felt the chest-crushing want that she had warned you of.  

It’s not real, this feeling. It’s not actual affection, it’s the spirit world and its magic. A trick is being played on your heart. You just need to get back. You’ll return to the mortal world, return to your old life and it’ll stop. It couldn’t work with the two of you anyways. Gilbert would be here fighting a war, protecting his court from invaders and leading his people and you would never want to abandon your life to stay in the Unseen world forever. You had a degree to finish, a life you wanted to build, and people who cared about you in the mortal world. 

You think of your mother, and her kind face and greying hair. You think of your father and the crows-feet that are appearing along the edges of his eyes. Your parents were getting old, your grandmother, even more so. When you were still in your own world, your grandma didn’t have much time left. She had done so much for you, her love for the family bookshop, for novels and stories, and fables made you the person you were. You don’t think you ever thanked her. 

You owe her that. She deserves to be told thank you. Your parents deserve to be told thank you, deserve to hear an explanation as to where you disappeared to, even though you’ll have to lie. 

He said, "Hey, darling, hey,”

“Hey, darling, hey"

"I'm the hardest goodbye 

that you'll ever have to say" 

The next morning, you wake up early. It’s not hard. You barely slept all night, so instead of trying for the millionth time to fall back into your bed, you throw the blankets off of you and get up. You stand up and drag one of them over with you to the window seat and wrap it around yourself. 

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and look outside. The temperature has dropped even further. A layer of frost covers the grounds below your window, and swirling ice patterns cover the edges of the glass in front of you. 

After getting dressed, you open your room door slowly and are met by someone outside your door. It’s Gilbert. His white hair is still messy and slightly damp. 

“I was just coming to get you,” he says softly. “There’s food downstairs.” 

You don’t say anything, just try to ignore the way your stomach flips when he looks at you. You walk beside him and smell the clean, soapy scent that wafts from him, hoping he won’t notice it. 

Gilbert leads you to the sitting room you had been in last night, where Francis and Antonio wait for you. 

The morning sun streams in, and a silver pot of coffee and food is spread out on the low table in the middle of the couches. Muffin nestles herself on your lap and you give her a good scratch on the top of her book cover. Gilbert’s hunting hawk isn’t with him, being banned from inside Francis’s seasonal home after an ‘incident’ which neither Francis nor Gilbert cares to elaborate on. You can see the large bird, perched on the stone railing on the other side of the window, looking offended as it eyes the food that sits on the coffee table in front of its owner. 

After pouring yourself a cup of coffee and giving Muffin a slice of bacon from the silver tray in front of you, you bring up what is on everyone’s mind. 

“We haven’t discussed how we’re going to get your final item,” you say to Gilbert, who’s sitting on the couch with you, instead of one of the available chairs. He’s not crowding you, in fact, he seems to be trying to give you some space, but you can feel his leg brush against yours. 

“It’s Gilbert’s sword, correct?” Antonio asks. 

He nods. “Vladimir Popescu has it in his castle on the northeast border of the woods. We’ll take the Standing Stones to get there. That’s the easy part…”

“But then there’s sneaking past Vladimir.”

“What’s he like, this Vladimir?”

You’d heard of Arthur, and you had the misfortune of meeting Lukas Bodevick in the flesh two days prior, but Gilbert hadn’t spoken much of this Vladimir character. 

Antoni sighs, before saying, “Well Gilbert would know better than I would but he’s… eccentric, from what I heard.”

Gilbert continues. “Vladimir is well versed in magical studies and incredibly interested in the study of occult magics. He allied himself with Arthur to have control over the Wandering Woods himself. If Arthur and the North Isles could do as they please, he would get free reign over everything else in the Woods, and the magic properties of the forest and its people make for good studies.”

“And uniting the Woods under your court meant that he couldn’t conquer it.”

Gilbert nods. You reach and pick a small pastry to eat while you think. “There’s no way that you could sneak in and steal back you’re sword?” you ask Gilbert.

“No,” Gilbert says. “Years ago, I lead an assault on that castle and managed to run him out of it. No doubt that after he re-took the keep, he warded it against me. If anyone were to try and sneak inside Popescu Castle, it won’t be me.”

You think. You think of meeting Basil in Arbourwood, of sneaking Gilbert into the grounds of Eldenstien Manor. You remember the Laws of Hospitality. 

“Does Vladimir have any staff for his castle?”

Gilbert nods. “A handful, I think.”

“Fae are superstitious creatures…” you turn to Gilbert and he understands your plan right away. 

“Laws of Hospitium don’t apply when you know the person. And Vladimir has definitely been told who you are.”

“But the staff wouldn’t know who I was, especially if I was disguised. ” You look to Francis, who’s sitting forward in his seat, hands clasped over his mouth as he thinks. 

“Fae glamour could work. I could make you look different, use it so you don’t look familiar.”

“And the magic could make her seem like a fae to any magical scrying.” Antonio supplies. 

“Basil had said something about how the Laws of Hospitium come from a story of one of your gods dressing up as an old hag as a test of someone’s hospitality.” You turn to Gilbert, who doesn’t like what you’re suggesting.

“So you’ll disguise yourself as a beggar, in hopes that one of Vladimir’s servants will let you into the castle out of paranoia?“ 

You nod. 

“It barely worked with Vash at Eldenstein Manor,” he reminds you.

“But it did work at Tallest Tales in Arbourwood.” You remember the way the air around you and Basil had tingled when you had asked for their help. Gilbert shakes his head. You look back to Francis. 

“Could you do it?” You ask him. You already know he can. You’ve seen the magic that powers this villa, the Glamour that disguised it from outsiders. The blond fae nods, but he doesn’t look enthusiastic. 

“No one will know it’s you, Cherie.”

“Then let’s do it.” You say, before standing up and brushing the crumbs off yourself. 

And if the world don't break

I'll be shakin' it

'Cause I'm a young man after all

The Eastern border of the wandering woods is mountainous and cold. Tall, coniferous trees fill the landscape, and white frost covers most of the ground. When you appear in the standing stones, the familiar wooziness floods through you. 

You manage to step out of the stone circle without tipping over and try to gather yourself. You’re still deep in the woods, a little ways away from Popescu Castle. The sky here is covered with gray, and the pine trees stretch high above you. 

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Gilbert says. He’s also stepped out of the Standing Stones and stands a little ways behind you. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. 

“Is there any other way?”

“There’s always another way, Maus,” He tries to convince you. He steps forward and squeezes your shoulders, holding you gently for a moment. “I could think of something if you give me time.” He leans into you as he says it and you sigh. 

“We don’t have time.” You say. “Arthur and Lukas arrived in the Woods days ago, and every moment we wait only gives them more time to prepare.”

“I won’t be in there to…”

“I know, Gilbert. But we’ve already come so far. It’s so close to being over. You’ll have your Woods back, and I can finally go home.”

Stretching in between the silence, the wind rustles. You have come a long way since the first few days in the Unseen World. Growing on a bare, thorny bush, you see familiar red berries. Spirit berries that those fae men had tried to force into you on your first day. Despite the effort to trap you here, it would seem you would be on your way home soon.  

The two of you walk past the spirit berry bush, its thorny beaches reaching your to try and snag your clothes. The pine needles crunch under your feet as you walk to the edge of the forest. 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” he asks, reaching to tug your cloak around you more securely, his hands resting around your shoulders. 

“I’ll be back in no time, I promise,” you say. Gilbert quirks an eyebrow. “Making a promise to a fae, little human? Be careful or I’ll have to hold you to it.“

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Just take care of Muffin while I’m gone. Don’t let her get in too much trouble.” 

Gilbert gives a low chuckle. “I’ll take good care of her, Maus.” And with that, he pulls you in to press a kiss on your hairline before you turn away from him. You trek to the edge of the tree like and take a look at the large castle at the top of the cliff. 

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I’m supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

You walk up the mountain towards the looming castle. Its tall spires stretch up into the dark sky. Mist obscures the dried-out gardens and rocky cliffs that surround the sides of the keep. 

With a dirty cloak wrapped around you, you walk up the mountain to a small path that wraps around to a side entrance. There are large doors in the back that look to be for moving large amounts of items into the castle, and beside it is an unassuming door, which is most likely for servants coming and going. 

You walk up to the door. The wind blows through your cloak, lifting it up and swirling the heavy fabric around your body. You swallow and knock loudly on the solid wood door. It's quiet for many moments after. You knock again and still nothing. You contemplate knocking again, and the swings open, making you step back. 

A young man, with pale skin and dark hair, opens the door. He’s definitely fae, telling from the pointed ears and otherworldly feeling you get when you look at him. 

He looks at you with sharp, forest-green eyes, unimpressed by you. 

“I need help,” you blurt out. You hadn’t really given much thought to what you would actually say, so you guess what’s spilling out of your mouth will have to do now. 

The man knows immediately what’s going on. 

“Don’t you dare! No, no, n-“

“I need help!” You force out one final time, and feel the air tingle familiarly around you, with the power of faerie-magic-mandated politeness. 

The man rolls his eyes. “What can I help you with.” The words are pulled out of his mouth by some mysterious force. 

You sigh, but don’t feel much relief. You’re not in the door quite yet. 

“I got separated from my travelling party. I just need room and board for the night before heading to rejoin them.”

The words tingle on your tongue as the man steps aside to let you in the threshold. As you step through the door, you feel something wash over you, lingering for a moment before disappearing altogether. You look down at your hands and see that Francis’ glamour is still on them. 

“Can I have your name?” The black-haired servant asks you, and you catch what he means. 

You raise your eyes and give a knowing smile. “You can’t have my name, but you may know it.”

He rolls his eyes and mutters “Nevermind. This way, just… stay out of sight.”

You are lead inside, and the heavy iron door clangs shut behind you and sends chills up your spine.  

The man drones on about where you’re allowed to go and where you aren’t, and you reach into a pocket for the smooth charm that hides inside. You tap on the carved symbol, just like Francis said, and then break off from the man that leads you away, to skirt down a side hall. A mirror image of yourself continues to follow the servant, and you take a deep breath as he’s none the wiser to your scheme.

I know that you hate this place,

And not a trace of me would argue

Honey we should run away

Oh, someday

“Mirror Image isn’t a permanent spell,” Francis had told you as he continued completing your disguise.” My magic can hide the fact that you're human for hours, but the body double won’t make it that long. You’ll only have half an hour until the illusion wears off once you turn it on.” 

“I understand,” you said, rolling the activation charm between your fingers. “I’ll make my way to the display room on the upper levels, and be back before the distraction ends.”

“Good luck.”

(Your mother always had quite the opinion on luck. She never believed in it. 

“There’s no such thing,” she told you once, during a quiet drive home from some. “We make choices and things happen because of them. Humans can’t see the big picture, and can’t comprehend how everything trickles down into the next. Our egos assign morality to it and call the long-term consequences of decisions “good” or “bad” luck. We distance ourselves to try and relinquish responsibility. Calling it luck protects us.”

We are often at the mercy of our choices, but more often than that, we are at the mercy of other people's choices.) 

Right now, you are relying on a good amount of common sense, and the minuscule amount of information about the castle you’re in to find Gilbert’s sword. Vladimir wouldn’t keep it anywhere that was easily accessible to visitors or the staff, which rules out the ground level, and Vladimir being a rich, pompous, evil piece of shit means that like any book villain, he’s probably keeping Gilbert’s sword near or inside his chambers to look at regularly. 

You have no clue where Vladimir’s chambers would be, but common sense tells you that his maids would. So you stick to the shadows and follow a pair of servants who chat as they enter a large room on the upper floors of the keep. From the crack in the door, you know you’ve found the master bedroom, decorates lavishly with personal items, paintings, and a cluttered writing desk. 

You duck away as the door comes swinging open. The maids exit into the hall, and you slip inside the master bedroom as the heavy door swings shut. 

The room is empty, thank god, and you take care to inspect the large space. The ornate red and black bedding is neatly made, with dozens of pillows and ruffly blankets, framed by two gothic bedside tables. 

Above the large bed, you find what you’re looking for. Well, kind of.

Hung on the wall is a gorgeously crafted wooden placard, where a large, sword-shaped object is used to hang. The problem was that the placard was bare, with only the dusty outline to prove Gilbert’s Sword hung there. 

“Shit.” You whisper. You can feel your stomach start to twist with nerves. It’s not here, and it clearly SHOULD be. You don’t have much time before the mirror image following around the butler wears off. You need to think and think quickly. 

The sword is gone, you think, but not the placard, meaning that it's been moved recently, and most likely temporarily, probably by Vladimir himself. You don’t want to think of why he would choose to move it now, at this time, because the most likely reason is that Vladimir is already onto you, so you push that down. 

You’ll have to head back downstairs to your guide and hope that the charms that Francis put over you will be enough to fool an incredibly powerful sorcerer long enough to steal from him and get away with it. 

It seems you’re going to need a little bit of luck after all. 

---

author’s note

*sticks head up from the hole I’ve crawled in* Its been a while! First I’d like to apologize for being away for so long. I’m ok, I’ve just lost track of time. 

First I watched the new Top Gun movie and decided that I NEEDED to write a fanfiction for it, then I was pulled back into a Star Wars: Clone Wars obsession by one of the kids at the summer camp I was working at. I made an entire cast of OC’s and have excerpts of fanfic and lore about them, It was a whole thing OMG. 

Then of course, Rings of Power came out, and I became obsessed. If you know anything about me, you’ll know I love a good villain, and I’ve been pulled into a Halbrand OBSESSION. Its a problem. 

WOOO! Anyway, I was really happy to get back into writing this. I turned on my it will come back playlist and really got back into the world and characters, which felt a lot like coming home. This chapter marks the end of the second act, meaning that there’s only 5 chapters left of this fanfic! I am so excited to publish the next chapter, just because of what I have planned for it! 

I hope that I’ll be able to stick to a more consistent writing schedule, but I won’t make any promises. The end of the semester is coming up and I’ll have to complete final projects and paintings. 

I loved reading everyones comments, they really make my day. Happy Halloween!

quotes (in order)

1. Farewell Wanderlust by The Amazing Devil

2. Mind Over Matter by The Young Giants

3. The Night We Met - Lord Huron

4. To Be Alone - Hozier

tagging list: @jtownraindancer​, @redrosesociety1​, @xxruinaxx​

[luvrodite]

roomie jason fic we r in the home stretch!!!!!!!

[lieutenantwilliamrusso]

The Ivy Crown

A/N: I'm baaaaaack with my first ever Aleksander fic!!! I've been reading a lot of dark academia and finishing up my degree in literature, and this is my outlet for all of that pretentious, wonderful stuff I'm immersed in these days. The poems mentioned are wonderful and full of gorgeous language, so I'm giving you homework straight from the desk of professor Morozova-- read one and tell me if you liked it!

Dedicated to the sweet and wonderful @idaofinfinity for her patience every time I disappear. I appreciate you so much.

This will be a few parts, but not big like IWCB. Little bites, people, little bites.

Summary: It's your final year at the University of Ravka, and the end is in sight. Under your literature professor, Aleksander, you've risen to be a star pupil. Then one night, you're forced to make a decision that will change everything. Will Aleskander be on your side?

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, murder, sex, drinking, (will add as we go)

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"Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in storytelling, and our story shall be the education of our heroes."

-Plato

Republic, Book II

Book I

Your first semester at the University of Ravka began the way most do. The young, impossibly curious first-years huddling up to the glistening spires and towering porticoes of the main hall. The hall, called Lantsov Hall after Ravka's longest line of rulers, filled you with excitement. The need for knowledge and exploration filled you, expanding until it bumped against your insides, prodding and shuddering until it was released.

You were 18, full of life, full of wanton desire to grow, to peel back the curtains and see the answers of the world.

You didn't grow up poor, no, you were from a solidly middle-class family of merchants. But the opulence, the ostentatious identity of the Ravkan elite became clear almost immediately. Your first week, your peers would ask where you summered, what sports you preferred in the winter season, what breed of horse you deemed adequate for Caryeva, none of which you had answers for.

So you adapted, sharpened your edges and preparing to compete with the toughest competition the country could offer, until you arrived, three years later, a top of your class literature student in professor Aleksander Morozova's classroom.

The man was imperious, gilt from hard stone or sheets of silver it seemed. The light of whatever room he was in seemed to avoid Aleksander, circling like a dog trying to find a place to sleep, willing to leave him alone.

Among other things he was also gorgeous, ethereal and lithe, towering over his students, passionately gesticulating over works by T.S Eliot and William Carlos Williams. You were enraptured there, front row in his early afternoon modern poetry course, watching his eyes flicker with the kind of life only an academic could have when biting into something juicy, some brilliant amalgamation of language that won't let them go despite a decade of repeating the same lines to young faces.

"Tell me." He begins, eyes flickering to each face in the room. "What did Eliot mean when he opened The Wasteland with, 'April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and Desire…'"

On the last word he looks to you, black eyes pinning you under their gaze like a butterfly on a display.

You clear your throat.

"Miss Y/L/N?"

You're ready for him.

"Well, in invoking the first line of The Canterbury Tales, Eliot reveals the beginning of a journey. And when we think of spring, we think of rebirth. This poem is the lack of that, it's the breakdown of… everything. So here, spring is a mixture of things, it is the beginning and the end and we are left with only memory and desire. What we know and what we want to be true." You finish, watching him closely.

Aleksander grins, a slow, incandescent spread of his lips until his face is alight.

"There she is. Excellent, Y/N. That's how it's done, everyone."

You duck your head to hide your blush, and the lesson goes on.

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

Each day after your classes you wind across the green, crunching leaves under your feet as they fall from the oaks and yews lining the tract of land. Today, your destination is the cafe you meet your friends at on Wednesdays, when the lemon curd scones are freshest. You're the last to arrive, hair swept around your face by the wind.

Nikolai, Zoya, and Genya are seated around the old wooden table in the far corner, mugs of steaming teas and coffees strewn about around a plate of your favorite citrus pastries.

"Look who's arrived!" Nikolai exclaims. "Did your sweet Byronic hero keep you?"

You roll your eyes, ignoring the comment. Sure, Aleksander was pensive and gorgeous, but he wasn't doomed. At least you hoped not.

You sit, nodding at the other two women and picking up a scone to bite into. The flaky crust gave way to the plush, spongy inside, causing you to sigh in contentment.

"What are you brats talking about?" You tease, taking a sip of Nikolai's tea.

"We were just discussing the fête." Zoya answers.

"What about it?" You ask, preoccupied with getting the waitress' attention for your own tea.

"We're all going, yes?" Genya cuts in.

"I hadn't really given it much thought." You ponder. Would Aleksander be there? In a suit of all things? The thought made you blush, and you ducked your head to hide from the eyes around you.

"Well…I think we should go. One last hurrah before we're done here." Nikolai reasons.

You nod in agreement.

"I suppose I ought to find a dress."

Zoys hums, sharing a look with Genya, a glint that made you nervous in her eye.

"You could…let us take care of that." She offered with a smirk.

"Absolutely not, I'd be naked save for a scrap of lace." You bite back.

"Saints, it was worth a try."

It was Friday and you were back in Aleksander's class, excited by his words but more than a little eager to begin your weekend. You and your group of friends had plans to head to Sturmhond that night, a bar off of the university's campus. It was dark and grungy, with mahogany furniture and paintings in gilded frames on the walls. It made you feel like you were in the belly of a ship, ready to take on a new land.

And the drinks were especially strong.

"Who wants to tell me why Carl Sandberg's "Subway" is so effective in its brevity?" Came Aleksander's voice from the front of the room.

For once, you weren't quick to answer, your mind on other things today. When you did finally look up, the silence of the rest of the class beating down on you, Aleksander's eyes were already on you. His brow ticked up, lips quirking.

"No thoughts for us today, Y/N?"

You sigh, frowning and sitting up straighter.

"The poem represents the working class, the ones who are building this great feat of transportation. They are tired and hungry but it doesn't matter. They know the importance of their work and they enjoy it. All that in 6 lines." You rattle off, remembering your notes from the night before.

"Thank you." Is his reply, quiet and pensive as he watches your face.

You nod, going back to your slouched position, eyes downcast.

When the class ends you attempt to exit into the crisp twilight like the rest of your peers, but Aleksander stops you.

"Everything all right today? You seemed off." He asks, leaning back against the large desk in the front of the room.

Your eyes widen a little, surprised he had been watching you so closely.

"Thought I'd give everyone else a chance to catch up today." You joke.

Aleksansder chuckles, then he tilts his head a little and you feel as if he's dissecting you, pulling apart your base components to see what he wants to keep or throw away.

"Is that all?" He murmurs.

"I'm just ready to end the week. It's been long." You say honestly.

"Hm. I can't fault you for that. Any plans for your time off?" He inquires.

"A few." You tease, unwilling to tell him your plan to get trashed later.

"She keeps her secrets." He answers, smiling warmly. "Well, let me know if you need anything. I wouldn't want my best student falling behind." He runs a hand ever so softly across your shoulder, hidden by your thick sweater, and then he's pulling away and gathering his own things.

"Thanks, professor Morozova." You reply in a daze, turning to go.

"You know it's Aleksander to you." He reminds you with a teasing lilt in his tone.

You nod, smiling a little, and stride to the door as fast as possible.

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You arrived at the bar with Zoya in tow, approaching Nikolai and Genya who were already inside. You had on a tight pair of black jeans and your favorite lacy black bralette as a shirt. You looked good and you knew it, eyes roving the bar for anyone you might be interested in talking to.

You sit with other two and order a round of shots, ready to go hard and fast into the night. On your third shot of kvas and your second Old Fashioned you look up from your friends once again and spot him.

Impossibly dark hair and eyes belonging to your favorite professor. He was in a deep emerald sweater, sitting across from another man, listening intently to his words, a deep gold liquid in his glass. You were openly staring, taking him in as you realized just how drunk you were becoming.

Nikolai is the first to notice, his eyes following yours across the bar.

"Well Saints, if it isn't your boyfriend."

This gets the attention of the other two, their eyes searching for subject of Nikolai's words.

You and Zoya exchange a glance, and you catch that dangerous spark in her eyes again.

"You should send him a drink." She suggests coyly.

"You send drinks to people you want to fuck, Zoya." You reply exasperated.

"Yes, I am aware." She shoots back.

Your friends burst into laughter, catching Aleksander's attention briefly. His eyes flit over, widening just a touch when they realize who he's looking at. You throw him a smile, suddenly nervous, but he returns it, tilting his head in acknowledgement, and you decide resolutely to continue your night.

It's only later that you're made aware of the situation.

"Your dark prince has been eyeing you since he saw you." Nikolai murmurs in your ear.

"Oh, please."

"We've all seen it. He's quite interested in the area right below your neck." Nikolai chuckles, raising his eyes to yours.

You tilt your head just a little, just enough to scan the bar from the corner of your eye and there he is, head tilted towards you just enough to do the same.

"Saints." You gasp out quietly.

"Told you."

"Well…it's irrelevant now because I have never had to pee so badly in my life." You declare, standing on wobbly legs.

Your friends laugh, and Zoya's hands point you in the direction of the bathroom.

The cool porcelain of the sink under your hands grounds you a little, and you look into the mirror. Was Aleksander checking you out? The thought makes you giggle quietly to yourself. There was no way he was into you. He wasn't married, but he must have a girlfriend or something, right?

You've decided to brush the whole thing off when you exit the restroom and knock right into a wall of a man.

"Oh! 'M sorry!" You slur a little, still quite far gone.

"No need to apologize, Y/N." Aleksander's voice rings out from above your head.

"Aleks- I didn't even see you there!" You giggle, hand coming up to trap the sound in your mouth.

He chuckles, laying his hands on your upper arms to steady you.

"You okay there, milaya?

"I'm okay. I'm just, uh…"

"Sloshed." He finishes for you.

"Yeah…"

"The mysterious weekend plans." He teases.

Suddenly a thought brews in your mind and you can only blurt out, "Green is a good color on you!"

Aleksander grins, rubbing your arms and causing you to shiver, his touch electrifying your skin in small sparks.

"You think so?" He drawls.

You nod, eyes locked onto his gorgeous face. Maybe he was a dark prince, something fabled and powerful.

"Well I think lace is a lovely fabric choice for you." He complements, and it takes you a moment to grasp his meaning before your face is heating up, blush spreading.

"I-I-" You stutter as he watches you with gentle amusement.

"Shall I take you back to your friends, Y/N?"

"Please." You reply, realizing the walk might be harder than you realized.

He guides you back, your hand now in the crook of his arm like some kind of Victorian gentleman, before he deposits you in your seat with gentle hands.

Your friends gape at him, and you fail to notice Aleksander's amusement.

"Have a good night." He wishes, and then he's gone, disappeared into the growing crowd.

[bitchsister]

Hi babies I have the flu 🙏🏼🧎🧎🏽‍♀️ IWCB will be updated no later than 2/19. In the meantime, I’ve been posting small chapters of a new MOTA Curt/Bucky/Buck fic that requires much less brainpower. Ily

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

What’s iwcb?

It Will Come Back! It's not out yet but it's a crimeboys/twinsduo/sbi post-zombie apocalypse fic :D I've had the plan for it for more than a year at this point and I've written a bit of it so far

Basically after Techno gets bit, Twinsduo sets out to visit this far away town that may have a cure. The infection is slow acting so they've got about ten days to across a large part of the US on foot. While doing so, they're using Wilbur's radio to talk to Tommy, who lives in the town and is unknowingly their younger brother.

[humanpurposes]

7, 17, 26, 30,39, for the asks <3

Hello darlinggg, thanks for the asks 🥰

Writing asks ✨

7. Your favourite AO3 tag?

Dead Dove; Do Not Eat 😈

17. Past or present tense? Why?

There's something I really love about the urgency of writing in present tense. I think I've settled into writing mostly in present tense, and using past tense for flashbacks or chapters that occur in the past (like Chapters 1 and 2 of IWCB, before we flash forward 6 years).

26. What would you describe as OOC?

tw: opinions. The cool thing about fanfiction is that we get to put our faves in different scenarios and explore different parts of their character, but I don't really enjoy fics that feel like they have nothing to do with the character or film/show that they're based on.

30. Decribe a fic that almost happened but then it didn't.

I had an idea for a Vampire!reader x Werewolf!Aemond fic that I really loved. It was Being Human inspired, roommates, enemies to lovers, with subby Aemond and inappropriate use of the word "puppy". I did start writing it but just never finished it.

[mgsdays]

He Tian and Mo Guan Shan

(19 days)

Did you miss me? – H

Fucking bastard, Mo thinks. Incredibly conceited.

Barely noticed. - MGS

He texts back just like how he used to, but that doesn't feel like enough. Since-

Fuck, Mo barely stopped thinking about He Tian. It's so fucking stupid. Mo picks up the phone and follows it up with.

...did you? - MGS

Every minute of every day. - H

How does He Tian just say those things? Doesn't he feel embarrassed? Mo thinks he's feeling embarrassed for him, and he didn't even write it. He stares at the words until his phone light goes out, and then he turns it on again and stares some more.

[tianshan WIP - read on ao3]

[fairyysoup]

Hello!!

I just wanted to hop on here to express to you how much I absolutely adored “it will be back” I have always thought there was a lack of werewolf content in the Eddie Munson universe and you most definitely fulfilled that role perfectly!! Not to mention my uttermost adoration towards maiden/medieval Eddie Munson type of writings and there also a lack of that sort of content imo hahaha! How come a dnd loving nerd that will talk about medieval monsters and knight quests does not star in more medieval fics? 🥺🥺

omg that's so sweet of you 🥰🥰 and honestly idk!!!! his character fits that sort of story so well 😭 but i truly love putting our lil man in historical fantasy situations for sure

in my head the time period for stb and iwcb is like.... roughly early 1700s-ish? but it's absolutely not historically accurate by any means so i'm not gonna call it that in the tags lol. i just know in my head that eddie would love to imagine himself being a dastardly bard in ye olde times wooing damsels and shit <333 king

[the-scribe-and-her-scribbles]

iwcb | chapter 11. it's almost time to let go

it will come back | chapter 11 | fae!prussia x reader

it will come back Masterlist and Summary

chapter summary: Gilbert isn't telling you everything.

word count: 3.8k

content warnings: mild swearing, making out, angst, YEARNING

(if you want to be added to the tagging list, please reply to the pic or message me)

ch 11. it's almost time to let go

Gilbert hasn’t been to the western edge of his woods in years, even before he was locked away. The time he spent with Antonio and Francis was something he looked back on fondly. He had met them years ago, when he was young and wild, and a lot more stupid. 

Gilbert was driving out invaders at the time and had met Antonio and Francis when they were doing the same. They ended up getting along, and an alliance between the three of them formed. Toni and Francis became some of his closest advisors, and he respected what they had to say. It was them who’d suggested he try the Find Soulmate spell and when it came up blank, and when Gilbert spiralled, they had tried to keep his head on his shoulders. 

(“What are you doing?” Toni had said. 

Gilbert rubs his eyes, bleary and barely awake. He hadn’t slept well that night. “I’m trying to focus, for fuck sakes.” He mutters. “I can’t think with you two babying me.” 

Francis stands not too far behind them. “You shouldn’t be doing this right now, mon ami.”

“And what should I do instead?” he bites out.

“Take a moment to process, to think.” Antonio sighs and Gilbert rolls his eyes. 

“There’s nothing to think about. I tried the spell, but it didn’t work. There’s no point in dwelling on it.”

“Ancients! Nothing to dwell on? Can you even hear yourself? This is your soulmate!”

Gilbert barks out a laugh. “The problem is the lack of soulmate, Francis.”

Francis growls. “I could punch you right now.”

“What do you want from me? To weep like a little kid? To wallow in self-pity?”

“I want you to admit that you’re disappointed. That maybe, somewhere in that black heart of yours, you wanted to find your mate so that you could be with them! Not just use them as some cheap spell charm!”

“Well, you always were a romantic.” He sneers.

“You know what? Fine. You want to be an imbecile. You want to rush into the fire without taking a second to fucking think? That’s fine, but I’m not gonna watch you bring yourself to ruin. Go ahead, try to take on Arthur’s court, try standing to the North Islands’ raiders. See how well it ends for you!” Francis bites out, before turning in a swish of his expensive blue shirt and storming out of the war room.)

Gilbert tries not to wallow in the past. He makes his choices and doesn’t look back to wonder what he would have done differently, or whether he made the right choice. He dug his grave and he’d lie in it. But as he leads you out of his woods and through the familiar grassy plains of his friend’s homeland, he can’t help but think of all the mistakes he made at the end. 

He sounds like one of those philosophers you study. The withering old humans who sit and ponder things like fate, chance and how small decisions trickle into overwhelming consequences. 

Francis was right back then. He should have taken a moment, listened to him and Antonio, Elizabeta and Roderich, and even his own brother, Ludwig. Maybe he could have held off Arthur with empty treaties and diplomacy long enough to find another way. Maybe he would have never been locked away in the the first place, never had to pull you into this mess. 

Maybe he never would have gotten the chance to meet you. 

Gilbert watched you weave through the tall grass, the seeds and pollen sticking to your skirts and hair. You look at him. You’re slightly breathless and you’re skin glows in the warmth of the setting sun. 

“You know,” you say to him. “I’m getting really tired of all this fucking walking. Characters in books make this shit look easy! My feet kill!”

Gilbert snorts. Maybe it’s good that he doesn’t dwell on the ‘what ifs’. 

I'm somewhere outside my life, babe

I keep scratching 

but somehow I can't get in

Francis has a villa close to the border of The Woods. Gilbert remembers Francis moving to it every year in late Autumn.  The two of you follow a dirt road around the outskirts of a small town, that cuts through the fields and farmland all around you. It's dark now and you walk, and up ahead, Gilbert sees the fight light of lanterns hanging from a rod-iron gate. 

You reach the entrance and try to push open the gate.

“Don’t bother, it’s locked,” Gilbert says. He moves Gil-bird from one arm to another before pulling off one of his gloves with his teeth. He places his hand on one of the bars. His fingers turn soot-black with magic. The gate hums before a resounding click unlocks the gate and it swings open with a creak. 

“M’lady,” he gestures as you walk in first. 

Despite the sun setting nearly an hour ago, Gilbert can see clearly that Francis hasn’t changed the place at all. The courtyard is still lush and opulent, with perfectly manicures flower beds and walking paths. Lamps light up the main path towards the house, and faerie glamour makes the red and white roses grow even as the first frosts of winter approach. 

You go to walk up a set of wide, marble steps to what looks to be a front door, but Gilbert stops you.

“Here, this way.” 

He leads you towards a section of brick where the ivy shimmers slightly out of focus, nearly unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know what they were to look for. 

“That’s a wall,” you whisper behind him. 

“Just watch.” He reaches through the illusion, his fingers staining the tips of his fingers with inky black, as he swipes at the bricks with a little bit of magic. The black spreads out, like ink droplets onto cloth, slowly eating away at the illusion to reveal large oak doors. 

“Oh, that’s cool,” you whisper, your mouth shaped into an ‘o’ and your eyes wide. 

The door opens, and Gilbert swallows. Gilbert feels the nerves build in his stomach. He knows how badly he left things seventy-five years ago. So much for not wallowing in the past. He pushes the door open to see a figure standing on the top of the grand staircase. 

Francis hasn’t changed much either. The blond man’s wearing an expensive white shirt and black trousers. He stands completely still for a moment, looking down at Gilbert with his mouth pressed into to thin line. 

“Hey, Fran.”

He doesn’t say anything. That’s not good. Francis normally never stops speaking. Francis descends the steps and Gilbert tries to get a read on his old friend. 

“I’m not gonna apologize,” Gilbert continues. “You’ve known me long enough to know that..”

Francis continues to close the distance between them. As Francis takes the last, long strides before reaching him, Gilbert braces for impact.

Instead, the blond’s arms wrap around him in a tight hug, a hand patting him on the shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re ok,”  Francis mutters as he pulls away, and the tension in Gilbert’s chest releases. “Toni! Get down here!” 

Antonio pokes his head out from around a corner and a grin splits his face. He lets out a jovial laugh and all but leaps down the stairs. 

“Took you long enough!” He says clapping Gilbert on the shoulder with maybe a little too much strength but Gilbert can’t find it in himself to care too much.

“Do you guys…like…need a minute?” You pipe up from behind. Antonio and Francis perk up to look at you, a pretty girl, a human, that they’ve never seen before. “Because I can wait outside, it’s no big deal.” 

And tell me if somehow some of it remained

How long you would wait for me?

How long I've been away?

Francis immediately enters host mode. Food and drinks are brought out by unseen servants and you and Gilbert are guided to a back sitting room while you’re grilled about your journey so far. Gilbert lets you tell your version of events, letting himself watch as you pull your feet under you on your half of the couch with a small cake, while you go over all you’ve been through in the past five days. 

Time is a strange concept for the Fae. It moves faster when you’re facing down eternity, he supposes. Days and weeks pass with the swiftness of rushing water. Five days ago he met you and you’ve trekked around most of the Wandering woods with him. Five days ago you crashed into his life and as he watches you chat with his old friends, laughing and drinking as Francis and Toni fight for your attention, you look time you’ve known them for years. Gilbert realizes that despite only knowing you for less than a week, it feels like you’ve always been there.  

That’s horrifying. 

It scares him to realize that you’ve taken the swift passage of time and slowed it down so significantly. That you’ve made 5 days with you feel like a blissful life of knowing you. 

“So all we have to get is one more thing of the West side of the woods, and then I’ll be headed home.”

Gilbert comes back out of his thoughts to catch the last bit of what you’re saying. 

“You’re heading back to the Mortal Realm? You must be excited?” Toni says. 

You nod, “I left kind of suddenly, so I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.” 

Gilbert watches as your face takes on a more serious look, and tries to avoid the confused look that Francis shoots him. He fails, and shoots Francis a look that says “drop it.” 

“But it will be nice to get back to my house, sleep in my bed, go back to class. I’m probably behind in most of them.”

“You go to a university, what do you study?” Francis takes over the conversation. He’s thankful for that because suddenly, Gilbert needs to excuse himself for some air, maybe a drink. 

He slips out of the room. The halls are quiet, with no one in them to see him realize that this is almost over. Gilbert had told you that first night together that if you helped him, he’d send you back. And now, with only one of Gilbert’s tokens left to retrieve, your time together is coming to an end. 

That thought makes his stomach sink. 

Gilbert hears footsteps behind him and turns around. Francis has snuck up behind him in the hallway. Gilbert nods to him, swallowing as Fran faces him with a stern gaze. 

“What did you do?” He says with a sign, and Gilbert tells him everything.

I can hope how this will end

With every line a comedy

That we can learn to love without demand

But with unreserved honesty.

Francis shakes his head. “Ancients, Gilbert. What you thinking.”

He groans. He honestly couldn’t tell him. Maybe he thought that he’s been able to keep his distance, but that plan went out the window the moment he kissed you in his prison. “I know,’ he says. “I know, I wasn’t thinking but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You can’t keep this hidden from her.”

“If I tell her now, she’ll never forgive me. She’ll get scared and she’ll leave as soon as she gets the chance.” 

Francis gives him a stern look. “She has every right to.”

Those words settle in Gilbert's chest and trigger something to rise in him. It’s something feral and desperate and ugly. It claws at his chest with dirty claws, It howls and paces around his heart. 

“I just…” he takes a deep breath, pinning the hungry, possessive creature inside him under his imaginary boot. “I’m not ready yet. I need more time.” 

If he was a good person, he would tell you this. He’d tell you everything, damn the consequences. But Gilbert isn’t a good person, even by fey standards.  He’s arrogant and cruel, and he is selfish and determined and a down-right bastard. 

 You, on the other hand, are kind and good and so incredibly clever, and he’s in love with you, Gilbert finally admits to himself. 

He resigns himself to that fact. Despite his best efforts, he loved you the moment you fell into his prison, the moment you looked at him in the cool eerie light of that hell-hole, the moment you smiled at him and laughed at something he said. 

He was an idiot for thinking that he wouldn’t fall in love with you, his curse-breaker, his soulmate.

Gilbert’s craves you. He wants you. He’s desperately, completely obsessed with you and this is terrible. It’s terrible because Gilbert’s a fae, and when the fair-folk loves someone, it consumes them. 

 Gilbert loves you, and he knows in his soul that he can’t let you go yet, and soon enough, he’ll be forced to. 

As Gilbert stands in the hallway with one of his oldest friends, he is unable to come to terms with that fact yet. He looks back to the room where he left you and notices it’s now quiet. 

“Where is she?” He asks Francis. 

“Toni was taking her to look around the library when I left.”

“He’s alone with her?”

“Don’t start that with me, Beilschmidt. I could have been the one to give her the tour.” 

And Gilbert doesn’t know which one of those options was worse. He thinks that any scenario where you’re off on your own where he can’t see you is torturous. He shakes his head. 

“I should go find her,” he nods to himself. 

“To tell her the truth?” 

Gilbert looks at the blond fey and Francis pinches his brow in frustration. He sighs. “I need a drink.”

Cause I can see how this will end

In all its bitter tragedy

I'll give you all I have to spend

And you'll give nothing back to me.

Francis had left Gilbert behind to go get something to calm his nerves, leaving Gilbert alone in the halls of his villa. Gilbert can feel the tension that’s settled in him but didn’t take up Francis’s offer to drown it in expensive wine. He has the sneaking suspicion that alcohol won’t be able to soothe him anymore. 

Gilbert walks down the hallway until he reaches the doors to the house’s library. It’s dimly lit by glamour-powered lamps that hang off the walls. He pushed open the door a crack and looks in. 

A lantern sits on a table in the centre of a semi-circle of couches, and to the side, you and Antoni talk while you walk along the tall bookcases. He can only see the back of you from where he’s standing but Toni notices him come in right away. 

While you’re distracted with your browsing, Antoni wiggles his eyebrows at him and leans just a bit too close to you. Gilbert glares and motions his head towards the door.  Go!

Toni rolls his eyes and shoots him a look that says, “don’t be so jealous,” before he leans towards you and whispers his goodbyes. You nod and whisper a thank you, and Toni quietly walks away. 

 “She nice,” he whispers to Gilbert as he slips out the door. “She’ll be good for you.”

The door closes behind him with an audible click you turn from the shelf to notice his arrival. 

“Where did you run off too?” You ask him. 

He’s fae, so he’s forced to tell you at least part of the truth. “Just into the hallway. Francis and I talked.”

“Well, sorry I didn’t wait for you. Toni didn’t give me a chance to tell you where we were headed before he dragged me to see this place.” 

You continue browsing through the aisles, getting lost in your thoughts. The lantern gives you a faint orange glow as you shuffle along the bookshelf with your back turned to him again. It gives him the chance to look at you more, a pastime he can’t stop doing the longer he spends with you. 

“You don’t have to stay here, you know.” You say softly. “I’m sure you’d rather be drinking with your friends, catching up.”

There’s no way he could do that. 

When Gilbert looks at you, his heart aches. He feels like he felt when he was locked in his prison. Hungry, ravenous for any bit of you that he can get. His nerves feel like they’re set on fire.

Gilbert feels himself step closer to you. His shoulder leans against the bookshelf, his slim figure loom just beside you. 

“Do you not want company?” 

“It’s not that..” 

You look up at him through your lashes and his mouth goes dry. That thing in him stirs. He itches to just grab you. He imagines tangling his hands into your hair, pulling you close, and never letting you go. You pause and swallow something in your throat. “What are you doing, Gil?” You whisper. 

Gilbert’s found himself leaning closer to you, crowding you. he tries to pull away. He can’t quite bring himself to do it. 

He clears his throat. “Tomorrow we’ll take the Standing Stones to the other side of the Woods. We’re almost done.” 

You nod slowly, your brows pulled up into a soft, worried expression. “I know.”

Gilbert swallows, and can’t stop his next words from leaving his mouth. “When this is over, you’d be welcome to stay.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You could stay here,” he repeats, more firm before quieting down to add, “if you’d like.” 

A soft breath leaves you and you purse your lips. “You know I can’t do that,” you say, so softy his ears barely hear it. You back away and turn down another aisle of shelves. Gilbert follows after you. 

“You could.” He leans in. Your eyes shine in the dim candlelight of the library, your features only slightly illuminated in this tucked-away area of the room. It's quiet. It’s so quiet that Gilbert can hear your breath catch.

“What do you want from me, Gil?” Your eyes drift from his, down his face and then back up. 

You said that to him before once, that first night you met him. Inside his prison, under cold, blue light instead of this warm orange, you had asked him what he wanted from you and you told him what you had wanted in return. In the rows of bookshelves inside his prison, similar to the scene playing out now, the two of you made your deal, and to seal it, he’d kissed you. 

And now, history’s going to repeat itself. 

“Gil?” He leans in more, and you are backed into the shelf behind you. Your eyes droop and you lick your lips. “This is a bad idea.” You say. 

“Then tell me to stop.” 

Tell me to go and I will. Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t feel this pull like I do.

You tilt your head up to him. Your throat bobs. “Gil-“

He kisses you. He brings both hands up to cup your face and he kisses you as he did all those days ago. You make some delicious noise and he can feel your hands slide up his chest and around his neck. When that makes him breathe out just a little too heavy, he can’t bother being embarrassed. He couldn't care if he was panting and moaning like a virgin. He can feel you touching him and he can feel his soul sing, the magic that flows through him hum. Why the fuck didn’t he do this sooner?

One of his hands trails down your back and settles firmly on your waist. Your breaths mingle together, his teeth catching at your bottom lip. His hands rove over your hips and squeeze into your thighs before he lifts you and wraps them around his waist. Suddenly, you’re spinning around and he sets you on a small table in the corner. 

Your teeth clink together, and your taste permeates him. Gilbert’s starting to think that your kisses could make him drunk. His fingers thread through your hair and he tugs your head back, exposing the smooth skin of your neck. 

You gasp. “Gil-“

He trails down your kissing some spots and nipping others. He feels your hands trail into his white hair. You grab the strands and pull his face back up. 

 “Gil!” 

He can’t even think about that. He kisses you again, your lips are swollen but you still kiss him back, and it’s so good and sweet and lovely. So lovely and beautiful that he can’t stop mumbling those things under his breath in between the kisses. 

He breaths, the fevered pace he’s set slows down until his mouth is far more gentle, and he leans is slower and softer, and your hands are still tangled in his silver hair. 

“Gilbert.” He pulls away, one final time. A string of saliva connects the two of you and all the two of you can hear is the gasping for breath in the dim corner of the library. 

“We can’t do this.” You whisper. 

He presses his forehead to yours. 

“Yes, we can.” He says. “You can. Stay, please.”

“I can’t. I have people waiting for me. I have a life. I might not be magic, or fae, or a warrior but I have things, people waiting for me in the Mortal World. I have to get back to them.” You place the palm of your hand and push his way. It’s gentle, not harsh or cruel, just the firm decision of someone who’s always done the right thing, always followed her mind instead of her soul.

You push yourself off the table where Gilbert had placed you, and walk towards the door. He reaches to stop you from leaving you. He can’t help himself. He has to try. His pale hand wraps around your forearm.

“Don’t.” You look back at him and your eyes are watering.

“I’m sorry.” Gilbert let’s go. He doesn’t want you to cry.

“It’s okay, really. I’m not mad. I just…” you sigh. “Tell everyone I’ve headed to bed, okay?” 

You turn away and scurry out the door, disappearing into the hallway. Gilbert is left in the library alone. He bends down and leans on the table. He rubs his face and left out a sigh. He feels like kicking himself. 

Why the fuck did he do that?

Everything I’ve ever let go of 

Has claw marks on it

author's notes

I am so sorry for this. This chapter wasn't beta-read so im sorry that it's probably not very good. Also this was my first make out scene I’ve every written so I hope it was okay!

Weeee! I did it! I am so sorry that my writing is so slow, but I’m glad I got this done!

quotes

1. Sedated by Hozier

2.As It Was by Hozier

3. This Will End by The Oh Hellos

4. This Will End by The Oh Hellos

5. Quote by David Foster Wallace

tagging list: @jtownraindancer, @redrosesociety1, @xxruinaxx

[luvrodite]

[weakly] 7k....

[thornedraven]

What story of yours would you recommend a first-time reader pick up to really get a sense of who you are as a writer?

Hello nonny!❤️

 Oooh that’s a good question. Also a very tough question. I would have to say either Bound Across Time or It Will Come Back, BAT is a post-canon that I felt a deep need to write because it’s my own personal type of comfort fic (angst and smoots), but then IWCB is an AU that combines some of my favourite aspects of Inuyasha and darker fairytale-esque tones that I’m a sucker for. Both I would say are good examples of what I like to write.   

[lieutenantwilliamrusso]

I promise IWCB is coming!!! Soon!!!

and ya'll...fall is coming. The spooky supernatural Billy fics are dropping after this <333

also!! if you're looking for another stalker fic PLEASE go read PONY by @persephonescottage it's absolutely wonderful

Okay PSA over have a great weekend everyone!!!!

[bitchsister]

Will It Will Come Back be updated soon 🥺👉👈

I promise I haven’t abandoned IWCB. I still love the versions of Oliver and Felix I created and truly that fic lives inside of me, and will forever. It made me a better writer. I’ve never put so much effort into a fic before. That being said, I did kind of drain myself on it and put so much pressure on myself. It’s been a month with no update and I am very deeply sorry for suddenly not being consistent.

MOTA took over my brain worms.

I don’t have a definite date on when I will update, but I’m planning to finish my shorter fic Eat Your Young and then I will come back to them and their twisted fucked up BS.

I’m a perfectionist by my OWN terms. If things aren’t perfect, the way I need them to be, I get frustrated. Very quickly this can lead to something fun and light becoming a dark ass cloud over my head. I also struggle with uncertainty on my decisions for characters and their trajectories.

I’m a validation monster!! IWCB was liked by so many and I’m still so grateful for that, but I got scared I’d let readers down by making certain decisions, which led to me just… not making decisions anymore I think.

Truthfully, I think just about all authors feel this way at some point or another. I don’t think this feeling is unique to me at all.

But yeah. Anyway. I appreciate you still keeping an eye out for it. It means a lot to me, really.

[tendervulture]

Fanart for @ingolstadts and @couch-house‘s Invader Zim Werewolf!AU fic, It Will Come Back. IWCB is among the most fun I’ve had reading a fic in years. I may not be able to draw humans well (yet) but that doesn’t mean I can’t make fanart. Have a Were!Zim and Skoodge’s childhood cat. :3

[humanpurposes]

I NEED an update on It Will Come Back sooooo desperately!! I need to know what happens next plssssss!!!

AAAAA it was kinda mean of me to leave it on such a cliffhanger lmao 😭 but hoping to get back to updating IWCB this year, really excited for what I have planned for that fic!!