#feat my horrible handwriting

[1sleepdeprived]

Artificer and her son that’s definitely a slugpup

she found him in garbage wastes

[dreamdancerdotfile]

Did you think that everything,

Everything,

Would change?

[ardl0]

2 projects from the weekend, left is a clone of earthbound audio's supercollider right is a dna analogic smoky fuzz. the supercollider is based on a big muff from what i can gather which i do love a lot, but the actual big muffs are a bit too cut in the mids for me. i thought earthbound audio had closed but they updated their shop while i was workin on this.

dna analogic is a japanese guitar electronics company[was? i cant find a working website but like that doesnt mean a ton] that made this real cool fuzz unit. its as far as i can tell a simple-ish design w/ the op amp and most of the rest of the circuit but theres a sick control added that adjusts the knee of what i think is a low pass filter and the clipping diodes at the same time in opposite directiosn, panning "towards" the diodes increases the required forward voltage for clipping to happen so less clipping happens and changes the shape of the filter applied to be more flat, panning towards the filter attenuates highs[i think im not 100 on how this pot works] while also lowering the voltage require to clip the diodes so it gets even nastier sounding.

[parti-poppers]

[tmrsunset]

-> based on this post by @adoresbenho

i said in the tags i wanted someone to draw it and then i kinda went "fine i'll do it myself" so here. minho in pink roller blades :D

[becauseimrichandican]

The lovely @mcnuggyy did a huge art meme for poly ships which can be found here. Since I can't art I settled on collaging the ones that worked and labeling them for the Caesar/Cornelia/Calpurnia OT3 that I've dubbed Triple C. If anybody would like to draw any of these for me I'd happily pay you.

[bensiskos]

🌟 for the handwriting asks!

(ID - a handwritten note on a yellow sticky note. It reads "(star) - What is something you've been proud of lately? I've been proud of getting back into drawing. I've made some new characters and am experimenting w/ making comics which I've been having a lot of fun with :-) TY for the ask!!" End ID)

[astorichan]

@ashyronfire here, have a low effort shitpost based on my comment from yesterday because it wouldn’t leave my head

I'm so sorry this is cursed ajsjhajahah

*skitters back into the shadows*

[lauvgoods]

hey queen could i request a little angsty rafe x reader inspired by the alcott by the national featuring taylor swift

the alcott / rafe cameron

SUMMARY : rafe has a bad habit of ruining the good parts of his life, including you, but you just can't seem to walk away

PARTNERING : rafe cameron x gn!reader

WORD COUNT : 3916

GENRE : angst , open-ended

WARNINGS : unhealthy relationship, drugs and alcohol, a few swear words, one brief mention of sex

A/N : first request! this ran a little longer and angstier than i'd expected, but i really hope i was able to do this justice and give you what you wanted! i also hope you're okay with it being so open-ended

𐙚₊˚⊹ 🦢 “it’s been a long time, but I really need to get some things off of my chest. mind meeting me at the country club? our spot?”

the text is brief, to the point. you wouldn’t expect much more from rafe given that it’s, well, rafe, but it caught you off guard nonetheless. the distance between the two of you has only grown after everything went down, after what he had done, and honestly he didn’t expect you to respond, much less agree to seeing him. then again, you always seemed to be the only one to see the best in him even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. you’d always–almost always forgiven him no matter how horrible he could act. 

rafe is wringing his hands, sitting in his car, trying to convince himself that this will be alright, though he knows that it’s just you at the end of the day. just you? he internally scoffs at his own thoughts. it has never been just you. the one person who truly made him feel alive, like he was a person outside of his mistakes. what was it you had always told him? “you are more than the worst parts of yourself.” you’d never thought of him as a lost cause, not once, but here he is thinking about how best to go about asking for your forgiveness yet again. 

two years of knowing each other, of loving each other, and yet it had all gone to shit. as usual, he knew, all because of himself. 

there’s a pool shack just near the main building, the one where he’d first spotted you, where you’d peaked his interest. rather than out getting a tan or swimming, you were sat in the corner of the building, a fancy little golden notebook propped up against your knees. it was cooler inside, so half of him couldn’t blame you, but he guesses it was that notebook that had caught his attention. a journal, diary, he didn’t much care at the time, but when he sees you in that exact same spot, with the exact same notebook, the biggest sense of deja vu washes over him. he’s stuck there, staring at you, watching you with that pen probably writing in the nicest handwriting you can. you haven’t noticed him just yet, and that’s how he knows that whatever it is, it’s captured your attention and pulled you into a little bubble like always. he isn’t stupid, though, he’s seen it on your socials, you leaning against someone else in pictures, smiling like how you did at the start of your relationship. not like the end, where everything was clear by the dimmed light in your eyes, smile not reaching them in the way he loved. he knows what you’re writing about—or rather who. 

after a few minutes of admittedly creepy staring from him, you feel that prickling on the back of your neck, that itch of eyes watching, and look up to see him. he looks different, cleaner, more alive than he had before, and your breath catches in your throat. there’s a familiar ache in your chest, a bittersweet taste on your tongue, before the corners of your lips turn up into a warm smile. rafe just stares for a moment, taking you in. you look the same, but that light has come back, and that brings him more grief than you’ll know for the conversation he has in mind. 

a couple of steps forward, and he’s sitting across from you. the sunlight coming in through the window washes you both in its warmth, melting the awkward feelings that might have otherwise arisen. there’s this look on his face, one that you know all too well. his jaw is locked tight, hands clenched into fists, and he’s avoiding your eyes. he hopes that you’ll still believe him this time when he talks, but he wouldn’t be shocked if you didn’t. he half expects you to walk out before he can get a word out, a sickly smirk on your face as you taunt him for ever thinking he could get a positive reaction out of you after it all. 

“i’m sorry.” 

it’s clear the words take effort to get out, and your eyes widen as they hit you. you can’t recall the last time he apologized, genuinely apologized. not something half-assed just to move on from another fight so you can fall back into an old routine again. kissing, falling back into bed with one another, walking on eggshells, the party, the inevitable fight, another fake apology. it was a cycle, an awful cycle that you wouldn’t dare break for fear of losing him. the truth, though, was that you’d lost him a long time ago. 

you can read him like an open book, like an instruction manual leading you to all his deepest darkest feelings that he wouldn’t dare let anyone catch a glimpse of. there’s fear, and you hate the way your heart inevitably softens at it all. you don’t reply though, placing your pen between the pages and setting it carefully on the table separating the two of you. you wait, looking directly at where his eyes would meet yours if they weren’t so carefully looking just above at your forehead. he never was good at confrontation, not heavy ones like these anyway. anger he could deal with. you’ve lost count of the number of times he’d punched a wall, or slammed a door, all out of pure rage. guilt is something he’s been quick to bury, whether under layers of other emotions or less-than-healthy outlets. 

“i hurt you, i know that. i did a lot of things i’m not proud of. i’ve–” he cuts himself off with a harsh sigh, tightly clenching his fist. words or conversations like these have never been his biggest strength. “i ruined what we had. the coke, the drinking, the fighting, and then the way i broke it all off, i never should have treated you that way.” 

“rafe, can we please go home? it’s late and you’ve had a lot to drink and i just think you should cut yourself off for the night.”

it wasn’t the first time you’d asked him that night. as a matter of fact, it was the third. still, he looked up at you with an expression that left you feeling small and insignificant in a way that can’t be described. here you were again, killing his high and, as he would probably be saying later, ruining his night as always. you knew, though, that he didn’t really mean any of it. in the morning he’d wake up beside you, pressing kisses to your cheek and apologizing for how he’d acted, saying he would try to get better, for you. 

tears filled your eyes, yet you held your tongue, knowing that angering him during a high would never be a good idea. you weren’t scared of him, knowing he would never lay a hand on you, but his shouting was almost worse than any physical blows. his words lingered in the back of your mind. 

“rafe, you know how much i hate these parties. you always end up high out of your mind and leaving off on my own to hang out with your friends. can’t we just stay in tonight?” you’d asked, eyes pleading while he turned off the ignition. 

he let your worries roll off of his back like water, shaking his head and grabbing your hand to kiss the back of it with that boyish grin you loved. “c’mon, i promise i’ll stick with you this time. promise it’ll just be a few drinks and then we can head back, ‘kay?”

promises, promises, promises. all empty even if he didn’t know it while making them. the moment he’d had two drinks, he had his eyes zeroed in on the table in the corner, and was off before you even knew he’d gone. you stood there in the kitchen, turning in circles, standing on the tips of your toes to try and spot him out among the crowd of partygoers. he’d left you again, and it took you nearly half an hour to find him. of course, the lines of white powder lined up and a rolled dollar bill clasped between his fingers. his pupils were already blown, that dazed look in his eye, and he smiled stupidly at you before waving you over. 

“c’mere, i want you to try this time.”

that one moment would come up in more fights than either of you could have known. 

you never did a single line, walking out on the party the moment he’d started getting annoyed at your lack of interest in the drugs, having a screaming match that same night, and it was one of the first times you saw him cry. fists pressed into his face, crouched down to his knees as he tried to regain some control over his emotions. there wasn’t much rafe didn’t tell you, especially regarding his situation with ward. his father had always been awful to him, never making him feel wanted. you knew that beneath that tough, hardened exterior was a boy who had been left on his own, neglected and never truly loved in the way he deserved. 

“every time i tried to tell you to hold back, to reel it all in, you’d look at me like i was an idiot, rafe. Like i was horrible for wanting to help you. you didn’t just hurt me rafe, you shattered me. you made promise after promise and then broke it all in the same night. it’s like you looked right into my mind, figured out the absolute last thing i wanted you to do, and just immediately went and did it.”

the smile is gone, the warmth from the sun fueling the sudden surge of emotions. your throat feels tight as you finally speak, memories pulling free from that little wall you’d put up, trying so hard to forget it all. to move on. that small ache in your chest seems to have burst, tearing at everything it reaches. there’s a burning in your eyes, but you blink fast in an effort to keep it all in. once that dam breaks, you know it’ll come out all at once and ruin any composure you have. 

rafe feels that spark of guilt erupt into a blaze, and despite the heat outside the cold pricks like needles at his skin. he’s already caught on to that uptick in your breathing, the way your knee bounces under the table even though he can’t fully see it. there’s a slight shake to your fingers that breaks his heart all over again. he’s painfully aware of it. 

everyone had warned you about dating rafe, how he’d only hurt you, keep you as another notch on his belt before going on to the next poor girl. despite the worries lingering in the back of your mind, you simply couldn’t attach that description to the same man you knew. the one that would ask to stay over, fall asleep with his head on your lap, the way he’d look at you like you were the sun. falling for him was like breathing, but when you hit the ground it nearly broke you. 

“i know i lied, and you deserved better than me. honestly, i wish you’d walked away just so you’d be less hurt in the end.” there’s a strained tone dripping off of his every word, rafe’s eyebrows knitting together while his eyes bore holes into the table. “god, i ruined everything.”

your bottom lip quivers, and you know that you’re done for. your vision is already going blurry, and any breath you take feels like it’s coming through a straw. 

“you ever think that you’re my problem? huh? maybe it’s you, not me. you’re always weighing me down, fucking nagging me for attention instead of going out and doing the things i wanna do. i just wanted a girlfriend that would be there for me, you know? listen to me and not try to drag me down. you hear me? you’re suffocating me!”

the words shouted at you as rafe paced back and forth across the empty parking lot were just that. words. he’d wake up in the morning no longer coked out or angry, but even this was a new low for him. as much as you tried to hide them, the tears spilled over. he didn’t really mean it, you knew that. you knew he had trouble controlling his anger, losing his grip, that he would beg you with tears in his eyes to forgive him. but it hurt. the mornings waking up, your body sore from crying yourself out until you were dehydrated and weak, then covering your puffy and red eyes with anything you could just to make him feel less guilty, knowing he didn’t actually believe the things he said. these moments, though, made you feel like a speck. a tiny speck but yet also the most enormous burden to him. you loved him so much it was killing you, had been killing you for longer than you realized.

“you even sound like my sister! ‘rafe, what’s wrong with you?’ ‘rafe, stop it!’ which side are you even on? why don’t you go ahead and hang out with her and all her shitty friends if you wanna say that shit?”

why couldn’t he ever make it easy on you, not even this one time? he’d taken everything you ever loved and blown it all up like a goddamn landmine, stepping on all the good memories that you had of him and forever tainting any other parts of your life when looking back on what your life had been like when you were dating him. you’d given all of yourself over to helping him, to trying to get him to see himself like you did. now when you try to focus on who you’d been back then, all you can remember is what stage with him you were in. that one time you had tried to spend christmas with your family? all you can think about now is how worried you were that he might be out partying and could overdose instead of truly enjoying your time together. 

your entire life had been completely focused both on loving him and on making sure he didn’t completely ruin his. 

“did you mean any of it?”

your voice sounds less like yourself with the way you’re having to hold it all in. it’s then, hearing you, that he finally looks you in the eye. tears are brimming in your eyes, droplets hanging onto the lashes before finally dripping down onto your shirt. your face has grown flushed, your throat painfully dry and constricted. 

“didn’t mean anything i said when i was high or drunk off my ass. you were never the problem, that was all me.” he sounds earnest as he speaks, and you can tell from the way he’s rubbing his hands against his pants that it’s getting to him just as much as it is you. “i was so focused on getting my next fix, but i promise you you were everything to me.”

that’s when the dam starts to crack, the tears flowing freely down your face, starting that itchy feeling on your neck as you try to wipe them with the back of your hands. 

“did i do any good?” your voice is wavering, on the edge of a full-blown sob. “loving you? did i help you any at all while we were together?”

rafe was laid out on the bed, the alcohol having long since gotten him drowsy. he didn’t get high this time, which was likely what had saved you from another fight. you simply didn’t have the energy. looking into the bathroom mirror, you were a ghost of the girl you’d been when you first started dating him. it was valentine’s day, he had made plans for a date and you’d even bought a new dress to wear out to eat. but, of course, rafe had gotten into a bottle of wine, claiming it to be the more romantic decision to start out the evening. the night had gone sour the moment he pulled the two glasses from the overhead cabinet and poured himself a generous amount. 

it was three glasses later for him–you hadn’t had a sip of yours–when he’d stumbled and knocked the entire glass down the front of your dress. 

“i’m so, so sorry, i didn’t mean to i just tripped.”

it was with tears in your eyes that you reassured him you weren’t upset, that you didn’t feel like dinner anyway. what rafe also neglected to realize was how far past the time of the dinner reservations it was. holding back another crying session, you led him up to bed where he promptly flopped down on top of it all. 

standing over the sink, still in your ruined evening gown, tears left tracks in your makeup, mascara running as your shoulders shook, yet you held in any noise for fear of making him feel guilty. every time, you reminded yourself of how kind and good he could be. you told yourself that you knew the person beneath all of this, that you knew that he had so much potential to be better, he just really needed to try and for it to stick. 

“you were the best thing i’ve ever had.”

rafe’s eyes are red, eyes glassy with tears, and you can tell he’s holding it all in. 

“you saw the best in me when no one else did. you didn’t just see a screw-up, a druggie, a disappointment, or a hopeless cause. you just saw me.” 

it’s on that last word that his voice breaks, and the gasp that he sucks in splinters any resolve you have left. you’ve never had the strongest will to walk away, only doing so after he destroyed it all. 

but rafe knew that he was poisoning you, could tell even if he refused to admit it to himself. he’d heard you crying sometimes, seen you through video calls with those puffy eyes, could see the way he was the one sucking the life out of you day by day. rather than trying to fix it or talk to you, or even get real help, he did what he does best. he self-destructed. 

that night, when he’d been calling you the problem in the middle of that empty parking lot, that was where he blew it all up. 

“i can’t do this anymore.”

red-eyed and frozen in place, you looked up at him, feeling like all the air had been sucked from your lungs. you were choking on it. he’d gone ranting and raving, had raised his voice, but never even came close to ending things. 

“rafe, no, you don’t mean that. you can’t-”

you’d started toward him, hoping that you could embrace him, console him, and things would be alright. it was a curse, the worst kind of curse, yet one that you loved because it was him. you loved him with every single part of yourself even if that meant breaking yourself to save him even in the slightest. he, however, put up his arms in front of himself and took a step back, shaking his head. 

“no, i’m done. we’re done. i don’t want to do this anymore with you, ‘cause i know all you want is to fix me. you don’t care about me for me, this is who i am. i go out and i party and i have the time of my life. it’s clear you can’t handle that.”

your breaths came out short, harsh, trying to backpedal and get him to see reason, more panicked than he’d ever heard you. “ro, rafe i promise you i can, i’m so sorry if i made you feel like i don’t really care about you. we can work on this if you just-”

“STOP!”

you were on the verge of sobbing at this point, unable to figure out where it had taken such a turn for the worst possible end. had you thought about walking away? more than once, but you rationalized that you couldn’t leave him like this. 

and he left. he walked away, back into the house party that you drove him to, claiming that topper or somebody else could take him home. he left you there, crumbling into absolutely nothing with the worst pain you’d felt in your entire life, like something in your chest was ripping apart, holding back screams. 

“i need you to help me forget you, rafe, ‘cause i can’t just go on like this.”

your hands come up to hold yourself, rubbing up and down your arms as you cry in front of the boy you loved. you want more than anything to hate him, to be able to just scream at him or tell him how much of you he’d taken. you’ve been trying to build yourself back up, trying to fix that hole in your chest. two years doesn’t just disappear in a few months. loving someone in that way leaves its mark on you, sticks to you like a second skin, comes back when you think you’re finally starting to be okay again and devastates you. it leaves you walking around as a ghost, all this love and no one to give it to because the person you hold in your heart is gone. 

the problem for rafe is, he doesn’t want to forget. he knows he can’t, that in him is that love that he’s tried so hard to bury for both of your sakes, that anything he wants will just ruin any chance of what you’re trying to achieve all over again. 

“i’m trying to get clean,” he says instead, taking in a stuttered breath. “about two months now, 'cause i know how much you hated it.”

the both of you know it, how no matter how hard you try it’s nearly impossible to walk away. it would be better for everyone, healthier for everyone. you can get with that person you’ve been posting, he can find someone that makes him happy without flashing back to every fight if something starts to go wrong. you two won’t risk falling into bad habits, and can be happy individually. 

instead, you open that golden notebook with shaky hands, your pen having held your place, and you turn it for him to read. 

“can you, um, can you read that last sentence out loud?”

he looks at you, eyes searching for some sort of meaning to how quickly the topic seems to have changed, before letting his gaze fall down to the words at the bottom of the page. 

“i’m trying, i’m really trying here, but i don’t know if i can move on from him, not with all that i’ve still got left in me.” he trails off at the end as he seems to realize what you mean, and lets out a slow breath. 

“rafe, i knew from the minute i got that text what might happen. i knew, for a fact, that i’d be falling back in love with you the minute i saw your face.” 

the air is still, a long silence stretching between the only two people in the room. the sun has gone behind a patch of clouds, leaving the room darker. 🕯️⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 9 - Obsession

Hey look, another piece for this series! Amazing!

This one doesn't really have any plot, but it takes place sometime after she gets back home from the hotel and before Oliver starts texting her all the time. Thank you to Nox for helping me brainstorm this idea!

Taglist: @justplainwhump , @whump-ventures

Masterlist

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.” | Polaroid

Contains: referenced parental death, referenced broken ribs, grief

.

.

There’s an album full of old photos buried in the recesses of her closet. It’s one of the only things she has left from her old life. She never had much in the way of mementos or sentimental items, anyway, and she got rid of almost everything that could tie Cady Graham to Cadence West when she moved. She’s never even shown the photos to Janaysia and Devin, some irrational fear that it might somehow put them in danger holding her back. 

But sometimes, on days like today when she needs comfort or catharsis or something else that she can’t quite name, she pulls out the album, locks the bedroom door, and sits cross-legged on the bed to look through it. 

Her dad was obsessed with this Polaroid camera he found in his parents’ attic when she was a kid. Film was expensive, so there aren’t the copious amounts of pictures that most people take today, but there’s at least one from every birthday, Christmas, and other special occasions, and a few everyday moments scattered in between. On the bottom, white portion of every photo, he’d scribbled the date and a short description in his near-illegible handwriting. 

‘Cadence’s 5th birthday at the park’

‘Cadydid’s first day of school’

‘A new bike for my big girl’

The photos continue into her teen years, the years when she thought she knew everything and that her goofy dad and his stupid Polaroids were so annoying. Everyone else was starting to move to digital, but no, he just had to keep up with his obsession of instant-print, horrible quality photos. Her moods swung back and forth at random, so in some pictures she’s actually smiling, and having a good time, while in others it’s obvious that the smile is forced, merely appeasing her dad. 

There’s one picture in particular that’s always been her favorite. It’s one of very few in the album that her dad is actually in. Their faces are smooshed together, nearly identical eyes and noses side by side, and the framing is all off. Her dad’s ear and half his cheek are cut off by the edge of the photo. It was his attempt at a ‘selfie’, a much more difficult feat without a front-facing camera, and he was being so ridiculous while trying to make it happen that she was laughing aloud when he finally took it. 

That girl in that photo was so innocent, so naïve. She wanted to grow up so badly. Having to do what an adult said instead of going off and living her own life was such a horrible tragedy, or so she thought back then. 

If only she knew. If only she realized how short the time she had left with that precious man was. If only she understood how absolutely horrible life could actually be. Cady presses a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. She would give anything to go back to those days, back to that moment. Back to when she didn’t know pain, when the worst thing that happened to her was not being allowed to date or go to a co-ed party. 

Back to when her dad was her protector and hero. 

Her finger traces the edges of the photo, carefully swiping across his label - ‘Me and my girl’. She sucks in a shaky breath, hand pressed into her still-healing ribs, and rubs tears away with her sweater sleeve. 

“I miss you, dad.”

[stormyykat]

emotas doodles + bonus aka

3rd pic bottom is fig's emotas design

[asterlove]

my masterpiece lmao

[derekgoffard]

* RIPS MY HEAD OFF* WAAAGHAHA HAPPY BIRTHDAY CARO!!!!! @numbaoneflaya !!!!!!! 🤸🤸🎂🎂🎂🎉🎉🎉🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈 I HOPE U HAVE A GREAT AND FUN BIRTHDAYYY!!!!!!

Bonus Vincent who is not prepared for sugar rush JILLY (😭) under the cut!

Feat my horrible handwriting that has not improved since grade SIX 🧍 LOL!!!

[fanmoose12]

the devil you know

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Moblit Berner, Zeke Yeagar, Armin Arlert

Genres: Action / Drama

Summary: Can you still miss a person, if everything you knew about them was a lie?

Сhapter 5/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

"There is also a letter for you, sir."

Levi snatched it out of the messenger's fingers, thanking him by a quick, curt nod.

"You may go," he said, waiting for the soldier to leave, so he could read the letter in silence.

Just as he opened it, however, Zeke's face appeared right in front of him, materializing out of thin air.

"Got a love letter, Captain?" he mocked, his eyes glinting. "Or were you popular only once in your life?"

There was a fire right behind Zeke. Levi longed to throw him there. He almost smiled, as he imagined the beast running around with his pants on fire. Watching it would be much more satisfying than simply punching him in a face. Although.... if the beast lost his pants, Levi would be forced to become an unwilling spectator to Zeke walking around half naked. And Levi would rather slit his own throat with a sword.

"Mind your own business, beast," he grumbled, having his fill of arguing with Zeke. The bastard just wanted to get rise out of him anyway. One time Levi had let him. He wouldn't allow Zeke to have another victory. "And get lost. If you won't let me read the letter in peace, I won't let you read at all."

Levi pointedly looked at the book in Zeke's hands. The beast took a staggering step back, cradling the book protectively to his chest.

"Now I see why you weren't popular," he arrogantly scoffed, but left hurriedly before Levi could act on his threat.

When Zeke was a safe distance away, Levi sat down by the fire and opened the letter. The handwriting consisted of small, carefully curved letters. Armin's handwriting.

Levi hesitated to open it. He hoped it wasn't anything urgent. He hoped it wasn't bad news.

But if the things remained just as they were when he left, it could very well be both.

Oh how he hated being away. When he was in a thick of it, at least, he had the illusion of having control.

And right now, the only thing he could control was Zeke. As long as the beast’s and their goals aligned and the beast let Levi control him. And who knew when that was going to change.

It was going to change, Levi was sure of it.

Worry about that later, when the time comes, he told himself, as he shook his head, pushing anxious thoughts to the back of his mind, and finally opened the letter.

Sitting a little closer to fire, he started reading.

Captain Levi!

I hope the messenger brought you everything you needed. If supplies are running low, please tell me so.

I'm sure you want to know what's going on our side. Do not fret, we're holding on. For now. The tensions are still running high, but Commander Pixis is doing a great job of keeping everything under control. Commander Dawk helps plenty too, and together they're working closely with Chief Zacklay to ensure the island's safety.

Yesterday, I wrote a letter to Historia, requesting her to come back. I know she has to care for herself and her future child, but I think... maybe, we can use people's love for the Queen to put an end to their protests. There are more and more people gathering next to our headquarters. I think it’s time for her intervention.

Another matter you should know about is the fate of these Marleyans kids, Gabi Braun and Falco Grace. Unfortunately, they escaped from the prison, but rest assured we're going everything we can to locate them.

Truth be told, I worry about them. It's dangerous for them to walk around the island, while we're in the middle of that mess. Many people don't like Marleyans, so I hope these kids are at least smart enough to not start any trouble. Hange-san told me the very same thing - she worries for Falco and Gabi, but doesn't think they'll do something stupid.

And before you can ask, yes, I've interrogated Hange-san about their escape, she knows nothing. What's more, Jean, Sasha and Connie were with her in the presumptive time of the escape. If you don’t trust her, at least have faith in them.

Well, as I said, we're working on bringing them back.

Oh, and, by the way, Captain, we let Hange-san stay in her old room, just like I told you we would. She praised whoever cleaned it. Don't worry, though, I kept your secret. Hange-san is too smart to be fooled so easily, but, alas, I did my best.

If you need anything, send a letter immediately. Stay alert and keep your wits about you, Captain.

The others are eagerly waiting for your return. Connie and Sasha are doing their best at keeping the headquarters clean. And Mikasa is doing a great job of taking over your duties and training the recruits. Oh, and Moblit-san sends his regards.

I hope you’re holding on. I’m sure you are.

Best wishes, Armin

With a letter still in his hand, Levi stared at the fire, thinking it all over.

Bringing Historia back could help ease the tensions, or… It could make it all even worse. But the Queen’s influence was undeniable, in that regard, Armin was right. She was probably the only one who could get them out of this mess.

And these damned Marleyan brats… Escaping from the prison was not an easy feat. Marleyans had taught them well, it seemed.

Was Hange involved in their trainings as well?

Whether she was or she was not, Levi didn’t believe she had helped them to escape. What for? If someone finds out where they came from, they’d be killed on sight. Hange would never do something so careless. If she truly cared about these kids, and it seemed like she actually did, she’d bargain with Armin and others, ask them to let the kids stay with her.

In her room. That he had cleaned.

He briefly wondered what Hange reaction had been like. Was she surprised? Confused? Touched?

She was most probably enraged, Levi concluded. Pissed off that all of her things weren’t on their places – Levi made sure they weren’t. Maybe, he was too much of a pitiful idiot to throw her shit out, but he knew the other way to get to Hange.

He used to know so many things about Hange.

There had been a time he thought he knew everything. Now he knew better.

***

"Another letter?"

As soon as the messenger left, Zeke was right beside him, his head raised high, as he attempted to take a peak over Levi's shoulder.

Levi swatted him away, too confused by the letter and the large enough package he had received to answer Zeke with the violence he so rightfully deserved.

"Get lost," he just said, blindly reaching behind him to push Zeke away.

"I don't care what you have there," the beast scoffed, lifting his haughty nose even higher. "I just came to ask if there are any letters for me."

Levi looked up at him in surprise, his lips curling up. Letters for Zeke? The notion was so ridiculous he almost started to laugh.

"Do you seriously think there is someone who would write letters to you? Your dear brother is in prison and he isn't allowed to talk even to his friends, and you expect a letter from him?"

In the face of Levi's open mockery, Zeke's eyes darkened. "Eren is not the only who can write to me. From what I've heard, she's not in prison anymore."

Oh, so he was using that card again? Levi wasn't going to succumb to it. He wasn't. Not again.

Still, his fingers gripped the letter more tightly, as he threw a sizzling gaze at the beast.

But. At least, he didn't hit him. Clearly, a progress.

"She is not allowed to write letters either," he revealed. "And letting Hange reside in her old room wasn't my decision."

"Clearly," Zeke nodded, his lips moving upwards. "If it was up to you, she'd be sleeping in your room, isn’t that right, Captain?"

The letter in his hand crumpled as Levi attempted to take a breath and keep himself from latching on the bastard.

But clearly, Zeke wasn’t finished. Clearly, he wanted more of Levi’s rage.

“And, just so you know,” he lowered his voice, as though he was going to tell him a secret. He crouched down to his level too, his hand next to his ear. Levi was too dazed to push him away. “When Hange cares about someone, she always finds a way.”

“Then where is your letter, Zeke?”

There was a beat of silence, the beast’s mouth falling open as he struggled to find his own words. Fucking finally, he managed to get him back.

Reveling in his small victory, Levi pushed past Zeke, heading to his tent.

There, he lighted the candle and put the package down onto a wooden table, sitting down beside it. Deciding to start with the letter, he opened it in a quick, fluid motion. His chest warmed, as he recognized Moblit’s neat, delicate handwriting. He didn’t even notice it, his thoughts too scattered amidst all this mess, but he missed his friend. More than he thought he would.

Captain!

How are you doing? Hope you’re not picking too many fights with our shifter-ally. Remember, we need him alive - at least, until we feed him to someone else. Although, I’m sure you’re keeping it together. You know just how important this is.

As on our end, things are not going all too well. Truthfully, I don’t know how bad it actually is, I have been out of loop lately, but I trust Commanders Pixis and Dawk and our Armin to get us through this.

There are rumors of the Queen getting back, or so Sasha told me. In my opinion, it’s dangerous to let Historia into the city, but, maybe, it really can help ease the tensions. Maybe, if she advises everyone to calm down, protesters will stop shouting under my window. It’s a good thing you aren’t here, Captain, these protesters – Yeagerists, as they started to call themselves, - are absolutely horrible. They’re loud and rowdy, and, honestly, their demands are making me a bit worried.

Maybe, they’re so bold because you aren’t here. I’m sure one deadly look from you and they’d scatter.

I also miss our evening tea parties, you wouldn’t believe it, I know – but I really do, terribly so. I went to the Niccolo’s place recently, tried a new pastry there, you will absolutely love it. I wanted to send it to you, but I was afraid it won’t be as delicious after a long road.

Now, I think it’s time to get to the thing that interests you the most – the package I sent you. I hope you haven’t opened it yet, so let me explain what it is first. I’ve included a few of my sketches in the second part of the letter, so you can get the overall idea of what it is.

In your absence, I’ve started to visit Sq Hange-san more often (I know what you’d say – we can’t trust her and should be more careful around here, but… we’ve been through much together, even if some part of it was a lie. It’s stronger than me. I’m sure you can understand) and we started working together on something new.

I’m not going to lie, working with her after all these years is still exciting to me. She’s just as brilliant as I remember, perhaps even more so, now that she doesn’t have to hide the whole extent of her knowledge.

She critiqued our performance during the Reid on Liberio. I was offended at first, surely, it wasn’t such a disaster. What we did was disastrous, I can’t and won’t deny it, but how we did it? It really was rather a success? Minimal amount of casualties on our side and another shifter, taken away from Marley…

But Hange-san wasn’t nearly as impressed. She said that we could do so much better, if only we improved our equipment.

Of course, I couldn’t refuse her offer to work together again. So, without further ado, here I present to you, Captain – the new uniform of Survey Corps’ soldier. We used some parts of our old uniform and uniforms of Anti-Personnel Control Squad, so now aiming and recharging the gun is a lot easier and carrying thunder spears is more comfortable too.

We haven’t done enough tests on this one yet, and, as of now, we only have a few models (yours is actually the first one we made), but I do think the modified version should be implemented among our ranks.

I’m eager to hear what you think about it, and I’m even more eager to have you back with us.

I’m not the only one who waits for you to come back. One person in particular is interested in your well-being. She doesn’t actually ask, but she always listens carefully. Turns out, reading Hange-san is as easy as it’s always been.

Waiting to hear from you,

Moblit.

Whenever he was expecting to read in Moblit’s letter, that wasn’t it. He half-expected that the package would contain a new type of tea or a warmer blanket. What he did not expect was a new uniform.

That Moblit created with Hange.

He looked at the pages, attached to the letter. Detailed, realistic looking sketches were undoubtedly made by Moblit’s skilled hand. But the crooked, hurried notes could only be written by her.

Staring at these sketches brought back unwanted memories. Nights, spent in the dimly-lit lab, brown eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm and excitement, burning brighter than the candle beside them, the deep, melodic voice enchanting him with one theory after another.

How calm, how content he had felt during these fleeting moments, during these nights he spent next to Hange.

And now the only emotions these memories brought back were pain and shame. She lied, she betrayed, and yet he still couldn’t let these moments go, still held them inside his heart, in the depth of his soul where no one would see them but him.

She lied, she betrayed, and all these moments were fake, but they still were. They happened, and when they did, they brought him an evanescent happiness.

And he was pathetic enough to still treasure them.

With a deep sigh, Levi put the letter down, reaching over for the package.

He took the wrappings off slowly and carefully, despite his eagerness to know what was inside. He didn’t know who made them, who sew the fabric together. It could very well be Moblit, the man was talented in various areas. It could very well be Hange. Despite her messy appearances, she was good with needle and thread, he had learnt it first-hand, when he got injured during expedition and Hange had sewed the skin of his arm quickly and neatly, her touch surprisingly careful and gentle.

When he was done with the wrapping, he took out what was inside. Black pants, black shirt, it looked so different from the old uniform.

He put it on, meticulously checking that every belt and fasting was in its place, zipped and secured. Finished, he stood before the mirror, turning this and that way.

It wasn’t ugly, Levi was sure it was very efficient and he would test it all by himself, when his squad would go to sleep, but he liked the old one better. He felt more comfortable in it, more like himself. More like a Captain of Survey Corps who fought against bloodthirsty titans. But the weapons this uniform was modified for wasn’t made for defeating titans. It was made for defeating humans.

And he still struggled with accepting that new, simple truth.

He couldn’t deny, though, Moblit was right.

Hange was just as brilliant as they all had remembered.

It made him think – albeit, fleetingly – how far would they go, if they had her with them? How far would she have taken them if she was always on their side?

How happy he would be, if she still had been with him?

Pointless brooding, he decided and started to peel off the uniform.

Its efficiency in fighting other humans was doubtless. That’s why Levi hoped he would never have to use it.

***

“Um, Captain, wait a moment, please…” the messenger frowned, scratching his head in confusion, as he stared at the letter in his hands. “It’s not signed, but maybe I’ve lost something…”

His put his arm inside the back pack, rummaging through it. Levi waited for a second, two, ten, twenty… The messenger was still at it. His patience running low, Levi grabbed the unsigned letter. If it was some soldier’s love letter, he’d get it back. But if that was something important…

He opened the letter.

And had his breath caught in his throat, because that— that crooked, hurried handwriting… He could recognize it anywhere.

“I’ll be in my tent,” he announced, his voice shakier than he was comfortable with.

He all but tumbled inside, leaning against the table to keep himself steady. His eyes ran over the letter, taking it all in.

The message was short, fairly simple. But it raised so many questions, filled him with emotions so raw he could choke on them.

Levi,

Something bad is going to happen. Don’t take your eyes off Zeke. Don’t underestimate him.

Be careful. And, please, come back home safely.

It took him but a moment to read it all. But the few words of the letter kept replaying in his mind over and over, making it impossible to fall asleep. Levi mulled it over again and again, trying to find some sense, trying to understand.

He got his first clue the very next day, when the messenger was back again, sweaty and panting.

Chief Zacklay is dead, he said, murdered inside his own office.

And the look Zeke had given him, the long, intent gaze that didn’t waver as Levi had followed after his soldiers to get more details.

That was his second clue.

[primrose-path-of-dalliance]

on bren and feeblemind.

(cw: lots of caleb backstory. self-explanatory, i think?)

.

.

this isn’t something i’ve talked about on my blog yet, but since the campaign has begun drawing to a close, i want to make sure i say my piece on the popular theory that bren/caleb was institutionalized because trent ikithon feebleminded him to disable him.

my piece being that it’s exceptionally unlikely he did—at least as a premeditated plan. this kind of theory also falls prey to the exact beliefs ikithon has tried to exploit in caleb.

for our mutual reference, i’ll quote the spell description of feeblemind.

FEEBLEMIND (PHB) 8th level enchantment

Casting time: 1 action Range: 150 feet Components: VSM (a handful of clay, crystal, glass, or mineral spheres) Duration: Instantaneous

You blast the mind of a creature that you can see within range, attempting to shatter its intellect and personality. The target takes 4d6 psychic damage and must make an Intelligence saving throw.

On a failed save, the creature’s Intelligence and Charisma scores become 1. The creature can’t cast spells, activate magic items, understand language, or communicate in any intelligible way. The creature can, however, identify its friends, follow them, and even protect them.

At the end of every 30 days, the creature can repeat its saving throw against this spell. If it succeeds on its saving throw, the spell ends. The spell can also be ended by Greater Restoration, Heal, or Wish.

considering the characteristics described and implied by actors other than ikithon—caleb and astrid prominently—who are not motivated to deceive on ikithon’s behalf, feeblemind is not consistent with caleb’s mental break.

fact the first: when bren broke, he became violent and spellcasted.

when astrid describes the circumstances in which he was taken to the vergessen sanatorium (e89, 1:49:30), she refers to his lashing out as “creat[ing] a lot of sparks everywhere else” and rubs at burn scars across her neck. she says that they had to subdue him because he was too dangerous. all of these statements add up to a bren who was viciously spellcasting at his friends and mentor when he broke down.

this wouldn’t have been possible if he’d been feebleminded. feeblemind explicitly prevents the affected creature from casting spells or activating magic items. in that scenario, the only thing bren would’ve been capable of is throwing hands. from him? not very dangerous at all.

how do we know astrid wasn’t lying or intentionally deceptive? because she (and eadwulf) still cares so much for caleb that she risked her life multiple times to aid him. no one who would give caleb a map to a secret volstrucker vault with her own handwriting on it (e127, 29:29; and 30:57)—or intentionally fail to counterspell him when ikithon could’ve seen her do so—would lie to caleb about ikithon attempting to permanently feeblemind him if she knew.

to preempt the idea that astrid had set the m9 up: it’s very obvious she didn’t, since trent ikithon had clearly had no forewarning of a break-in. he would’ve at least been waiting in the vault, already prepared to subdue them quickly, if he’d known.

so it’s fair to determine that astrid would either be honest to the extent of her knowledge to caleb or make it clear that she couldn’t answer him. since she didn’t imply the latter, we can assume she was being honest. and because of astrid’s competence, it’s highly probable she would’ve noticed if his behavior was symptomatic of feeblemind over the years.

fact the second: bren’s mental condition repeatedly improved and regressed while he was institutionalized.

astrid states this in the same conversation about their subduing him after his breakdown (e89, 1:50:50). considering this with the context of their romantic relationship prior to his breakdown, her genuine care for him, and her rise to power that included accompanying ikithon frequently to the sanatorium (e127, 31:07)—astrid would’ve had the motivation and the opportunities to visit bren in person. she could’ve also kept well-abreast of his condition.

actual times of improvement and decline in the mental state that astrid first observed during his breakdown wouldn’t be consistent with feeblemind. although it reduces the victim’s intelligence score to 1, they still retain thought and their sense of identity without problems.

this is a maintenance of consistency and (relative) reason. feeblemind does not actually damage a person’s basic perception of reality. but the health of bren’s behavior throughout the years was instead very unstable.

fact the third: caleb doesn’t remember anything from the burning of his home up to his healing by the unknown cleric.

in the conversation with astrid in e89, he asks her what happened when he broke and explicitly says, “the last thing i remember is my home” (1:46:58). when he first tells beau and nott about his past, he explains that he doesn’t remember much of what happened to him there (e18, 2:51:54).

beyond the reduction to their intelligence, feeblemind doesn’t affect the victim’s ability to form memories. caleb’s keen mind feat and established narrative element of his eidetic memory would’ve still been present as well. therefore, feeblemind alone can’t explain such a significant, near-empty gap in his memory. he would still remember something.

even the possibility of trent ikithon altering them directly is precluded by the fact that the cleric’s healing removed the alterations to caleb’s memory. if all those years had been magically blocked away, they’d have returned when he was healed of everything else.

fact the fourth: sometimes, people really do just break.

nothing about caleb’s backstory is inconsistent with just... being a person living their life, even a terrible one. he was a young man that believed so zealously in his country and his purpose, abused by a powerful older man, that he did many horrible things and believed they were right. until finally he did something that he couldn’t process and broke down.

there’s two reoccurring, underlying assumptions i’ve noticed behind why this theory seems to be so compelling and popular:

caleb just seems so remorseful and traumatized by his double patricide. there’s no way he would’ve willingly murdered his parents. ikithon must have known and decided to preempt his inevitable betrayal.

everything we know about bren, especially from the horse’s own mouth, suggests that he had been willing (at least up until his mental break) to murder his parents. he was literally an extreme nationalist—a fascist, if you will. he was lawful evil (twitter source). he gratefully executed many “criminals” put in front of him, more than likely by burning them to death based on his ptsd. victims whom we now understand may not have been guilty of anything at all.

he was glad to do what he thought was best for the dwendalian empire, and he truly thought being volstrucker was the correct path. trent ikithon, his abuser, treated him as his favorite (e110, 3:30:58). because he believed.

that fervent faith, in fact, is the key to something like his breakdown in the first place. hearing the dying screams of his parents, bren was forced to confront a violent dissonance between his radical beliefs that condemned traitors (as he believed until the cleric’s healing) and the intuitive horror of murdering his parents that he couldn’t reconcile. this fathomless sense of betrayal is why caleb so deeply despised ikithon and himself.

a young evocation wizard who didn’t want his parents dead would’ve run into that burning house, feebleminded or not. someone magically compelled to set that fire would’ve understood what happened as soon as the charm left him and would definitely remember every detail once the cleric healed him.

caleb is remorseful and traumatized because he willingly murdered his parents. as well as many others.

it can’t be that simple. caleb was institutionalized for eleven years just because his abuser pushed him too far? there must be a more nefarious reason. ikithon even said he basically stored him for later.

putting aside the fact that bren having a breakdown in the way he did makes complete sense for his situation, ikithon’s “claim” that he orchestrated all of caleb’s subsequent years is not only something he never actually says (e110, 3:16:34)—it is a claim that’s patently absurd.

i’ve written meta that discusses this in the past (link here). essentially though, the number of moving pieces and assumptions that would be needed for such a series of events is ridiculously improbable. even assuming that ikithon feebleminded him—so that caleb’s mind would be intact when he ‘woke up’—even assuming that ikithon somehow procured the service of a cleric of the archeart—a banned deity in the empire that would oppose ikithon...

why in the world would he ever reasonably believe that caleb widogast, the man he viciously betrayed and lied to and abused, would do anything to benefit ikithon?

trent ikithon is a mortal man. he has power, yes; enchantment magic, authority, and a history of abuse and manipulation over caleb’s head, yes. but ikithon is a mortal man. not a puppeteer in the sky piloting people’s bodies.

he certainly wouldn’t have led caleb to a whole new family that would change everything about his life for the better. a family that would love him, truly—a family that would help him heal, bear the weight of his guilt, and find a real future waiting for him again instead of a self-destructive end. a family that would fight tooth and nail for caleb’s sake against ikithon.

abusers lie. their biggest lie, the one they always circle back to in the end, is that their victim is unique: that there is something which makes them deserving of abuse, and that their abuser is both right and inescapable.

ikithon is read as honest because he chooses his words carefully and has the self-confidence to believe it. everything he’s claimed about caleb and his past have either been implications that he encouraged others to reach for him or platitudes empty of everything except gaslighting intent.

caleb has escaped. and everything ikithon wants is to convince caleb and his friends that he continues to control caleb’s life, that caleb is special, so he can regain some influence over a man who’s come to command so much power.

the idea that caleb must’ve been feebleminded—that he couldn’t have just had a mental breakdown like so many other prospective volstrucker before miraculously, then strenuously, recovering to create a hopeful future for himself—falls into the trap of validating ikithon’s lies.

trent ikithon didn’t see and believe in caleb’s ‘full potential’ before anyone else did. he didn’t foresee a single ounce of the man’s struggle to put himself back together after what he suffered. caleb was not institutionalized to serve as a toy to one day pull back out of the closet. there was no feeblemind or other secretive plan that could only serve to obfuscate the brutal truth:

ikithon abused a boy until he shattered, and tried to hide the evidence. a crime that he’s committed against countless other children. plain and simple.

so that’s my piece.

caleb widogast—bren ermendrud—was not the victim of a premeditated feeblemind from ikithon, based on the mechanics of the spell. even more importantly, the narrative of his and ikithon’s stories would suffer if he was.

now,

A LOGICAL POSSIBILITY I WON’T DENY.

what if ikithon feebleminded him as a method to subdue him after the breakdown?

this is more or less an alternate theory that’s irrelevant to the points i actually wanted to make. but i want to talk about it anyway because it’s kind of fun.

fact the bonus: bren spent eleven years in the sanatorium.

eleven years is a long time. he would’ve been able to save every 30 days after the initial failed save. the exandrian calendar has about eleven 30-day periods every year. assuming a feeblemind spell cast on him just prior to his institutionalization, that’s somewhere around 121 possible save attempts, give or take a few.

what’s the likelihood of him actually saving? to go through the mechanics:

normally, feeblemind reduces a person’s intelligence score to 1, modifier -5. caleb, as a variant human, possessed the feat keen mind from the beginning both mechanically and story-wise. this would make his intelligence score 2, modifier -4, even after feeblemind.

as a level 1-2 wizard, he would’ve had proficiency in intelligence saves. this would be +2 to his save.

in total, the modifier to bren’s intelligence saves would be -2.

in order to cast feeblemind, trent ikithon would have to have been a minimum level 15 wizard. this leaves two possible proficiency bonuses to determine his spell save dc: +5 or +6.

it’s probably safe to assume that his intelligence score is at least 18–20, likely 20. this would be a modifier of +4 or +5. (his intelligence could be 22+ if matt wanted to be a real dick, but let’s assume otherwise.)

spell save dc = 8 + spellcasting score mod (for wizards, this is intelligence) + proficiency bonus.

this means trent ikithon’s possible spell save dc is somewhere from 17–19.

therefore:

at minimum—17 being ikithon as a level 15–16 wizard with an intelligence score of 18–19 at the time of casting—bren would have to roll a 19 or nat 20 to make the save with his -2 save modifier.

at a dc of 18—ikithon either being level 17–20 or having an intelligence score of 20, but not both—bren would have to roll a nat 20.

at a dc of 19(+), it would be impossible for bren to save without additional bonuses such as bless.

i don’t have the brainpower to calculate some real statistical probabilities, but depending on your opinion of trent ikithon’s probable capabilities at the time of bren’s mental break, he may have been able to save against feeblemind sometime during the eleven years he spent at the sanatorium.

naturally, this has the earlier-mentioned conundrum of remembering that return of clarity once he was healed by the cleric, should ikithon have been retrieved to recast the feeblemind and altered his memories. nevertheless, it may or may not be a fun thought to play around with.

[easily-infatuated23]

The Parent and the Professor

a/n: i love the idea of reader being a professor! let me know if you want a part two :) letters are in italics

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Professor!Reader

word count: 4k

warning: mentions of war and not feeling worthy

summary: Will a broken friendship be rekindled when Scorpius’s favorite teacher writes a letter to his father?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have always had a passion for teaching and inspiring young minds. So, it wasn’t surprising that I was ecstatic to start my fourth year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at my alma mater, Hogwarts. When I first started working there, I was haunted by the memories of the war. Everywhere I looked I could remember a different face of a friend or teacher laying dead. Seeing the students happy faces made the memories easier to bear. Just the knowledge that they could safely live out their childhoods in such a magical and special place softened the lingering pain.

One of my favorite parts of teaching at Hogwarts was teaching the children of the people I had grown up with. For some, I knew so much about their parents from those early silly childhood days that simply seeing their faces made me laugh and reminisce. Of all the children of friends I had taught thus far, the most gifted was Scorpius Malfoy. It wasn’t such a shock that he was so clever, his father had been a very gifted student when he applied himself. I had been apprehensive when I first read Scoripus’s name on the attendance sheet. His father Draco and I had actually been very close friends for the first 6 years of schooling. We were both in Slytherin and he was one of the few people who didn’t tease or berate me for not being a typical Slytherin. Yes he would get annoyed when I stood up for Hermione when he called her a ‘mudblood’ or when I would challenge his pure-blood views but he always was kind to me.

That all changed in the beginning of our sixth year. He started pushing everyone away and yelling at me almost any time he saw me. I tried to continue to be kind to him but my attempts were swatted away like flies. Once the war began, I understood why he had become distant. He was given an impossible task with no choice as to whether or not to complete it. The worst moment came when he walked to the side of the Death Eaters and The Dark Lord. I was one of the few people that knew he did this for the sake of his parents and not for the Dark Lord. He redeemed this action when Harry Potter was revealed to be alive. He threw him his wand and ran back to the side of good. We locked eyes for a moment before he ran through the castle to safety. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. He did make a sort of “apology and amends” tour going to almost every individual in the Wizarding World and showing he was a changed man and that he no longer held his past ideals. The one person he left out on that tour was me.

I never understood why. I figured he either thought our friendship was beyond fixing or maybe because he knew I would forgive him and understand. More likely, I guessed he couldn’t stand to face me. But none of that mattered now. It was all just a slight pain in my heart whenever I saw Scorpius. As the school year began, Scorpius Malfoy excelled in my class. He was always the first to raise his hand to ask or answer a question, always the most engaged and eager to learn. One day after class I noticed he was lingering by the door. “Can I help you Mr. Malfoy?” I asked. He nodded and approached my desk. “I was wondering if you could assign me as Athena’s tutor. I know she asked you for one and I want to volunteer”. He looked down at his shoes, trying to hide a blush I figured stemmed from a small crush on the student called Athena. “I was going to assign it to you any way but because you asked I will also add ten points to Slytherin for taking the initiative”. He looked up and smiled. “Thank you Professor!”. He ran out of the room so giddy, calling to his best friend Albus to tell him the news. “What a sweet kid” I thought. Later that night I took a break from grading tests and thought about my old friend Draco Malfoy. Perhaps I should write him. But just to tell him what a gifted student his son was. His wife had passed away four years ago and I figured it must be lonely being all alone in the large estate he occupied known as Malfoy Manor. Maybe this would re-open a line of communication between the two of us. It had been a long time since I had seen him and frankly, I missed him. He probably didn’t think of me though. Sighing, I picked up my quill and penned a formal letter to my former friend.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

-I couldn’t bring myself to write Draco-

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to inform you that your son has done exceedingly well in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class and has quickly become my prized pupil. He has even volunteered to take on extra tutoring responsibilities. He is a sweet young man and it is a privilege to have him in my class.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

I examined the letter for a long time, constantly frowning at it and wondering if I should just ball it up and forget about it. At last I found the nerve to seal the letter and before I could stop myself Harvey, my owl, was flying away from my cottage. “Too late now” I murmured. My letter went unanswered for nearly two weeks. I spent the entire first week feeling anxious and most of the second week resigned to the idea that Draco had truly decided I was unworthy of a response. After all, it had been many years. On the Friday of the second week, I stayed up late grading some last minute essay submissions when I heard a tapping at my window. I turned to find an unfamiliar owl outside. I opened the window and took the letter. After a sufficient amount of pats and snacks were given to the owl, I settled in to see if the letter was what I had been waiting for. It was the first thing I saw, the green snake seal on the back confirmed it. Draco had responded to my letter. I flipped it over to see my name scrawled on the front in handwriting I used to be more familiar with. I stared at the letter for a long time before finally opening it. I gently removed the seal and unfolded the letter, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leave my chest.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I appreciate your kind words about my son. He has spoken fondly of you and of your class, he says it is his favorite. Congratulations on being the longest serving Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in twenty years. It is quite a feat. I hope you are well.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

My heart skipped a beat. He matched my formality but he still slipped in something to make me blush. I sighed. I hadn’t been expecting some long rambling dramatic letter explaining why he never came back to me, despite my efforts, but a small clue or hint would have been something. I thought writing the letter might give me more closure but I was horribly mistaken. Now, all I wanted to do was write him back and find some way to see him. I had done my best after the war but he pushed me away more. That night was a sleepless night for me. I felt like a sixteen year old again, debating if I should write him back or not. If I did decide to write him back, how long should I wait? Ultimately, I decided it was best to leave it there.

Two months later, Quidditch season was in full swing as Slytherin was playing Hufflepuff in a match leading up to the finals. I was never one thrilled by the idea of Quidditch, but Scorpius had begged me to come so I attended. He had followed in his father’s foot steps and was the Seeker for the Slytherin team. When I got to the parent and faculty section I was stunned to see none other than Draco Malfoy. I quickly looked away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him. I jogged up the bleacher stairs and sat next to the Divinations teacher. For most of the game I pretended to be watching the match but in reality, I kept glancing at Draco’s platinum blonde hair, half hoping he would turn and see me and half hoping he would leave without knowing I was there. Eventually, I was able to relax and enjoy the game. Scorpius lead the team to a win and the Slytherin student section went wild. I could have sworn I saw Athena blow him a kiss. I guess those tutoring sessions had helped him as much as they had helped her grades! I couldn’t help but look down and chuckle to myself, this little bit of childhood romance warmed my heart. When I looked back up my gaze was meant by the piercing blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was that of shock or fear but before I could give a slight smile he looked away. Now this truly felt like we were sixteen again.

Everyone started to rise and leave the section talking and making merry. I rose from my seat and before I could begin to descend, Draco rose suddenly and turned to me, walking in my direction. I froze. “Hello Professor Y/L/N” he said, not meeting my gaze for long. “Mr. Malfoy” was all I could manage to croak. “I was so pleased to receive your letter about Scorpius, he doesn’t always tell me what’s going on when he’s here”. “Yes,” I smiled “he is a wonderful student. You must be very proud of him”. Draco gave a small but sincere smile. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here” I said. “I was able to get a few weeks off from work so I decided to come down and watch the match. It has been nice to see the place so..” he paused. “Free” I finished for him. He smiled and met my gaze again. “Yes thats exactly what I was thinking.” There was a few moments of silence. It wasn’t as awkward or terrifying as I had anticipated. “I should go find my son” he said finally. “Yes of course it was good to see you again”. I meant this whole heartedly. “Perhaps I can see you again soon and we can talk while there is less noise” he said. A little surprised but happy I replied yes. Before turning to leave he squeezed my hand and gave me his signature smirk before turning and descending down the bleachers. Was my friendship with Draco Malfoy finally going to be rekindled? I hoped so. Before turning and walking out of sight he called back to me, “I’ll write you”. I nodded. I would never have expected this to happen and I had no idea what to expect next.

Another week went by before I heard from him. His owl found me in the middle of a lesson, I opened the window and thanked the owl. I tucked the letter into my robe pocket. As I shifted my attention back to the class I saw Scorpius’s face twist with confusion then look at Albus Potter. Shit. He clearly recognized the owl. I decided I would talk to him after class. Once the lesson was over I called Scorpius to my desk. “I saw you looked confused when your father’s owl delivered me a letter so I thought I owed you an explanation”. He said nothing but simply looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “Your father and I actually used to be very close friends in the early years at Hogwarts,” I began. He looked up at me puzzled. It was clear his father had never mentioned that detail to him. “I wrote to your father telling him what an exceptional student you were and then we ran into each other at the last Quidditch match, congratulations by the way, and we discussed possibly meeting to catch up. I didn’t want you to simply see the owl and then have your brain spin in circles thinking of possible reasons for the letter”. He nodded and finally spoke. “Yeah I was really confused at first. I must admit I am a bit more confused now though. He has never spoken about you before. When I told him you were my favorite professor he seemed to not know who you were”. Ouch. “Well we were going through a hard time back then, I don’t blame him for forgetting” I managed, trying to keep my composure. “You may go” I finished. He jogged out of the room glancing back one more time before finally leaving. Maybe he thought I died. Rationalizing wasn’t helping. I climbed the small staircase in my classroom and entered my office, locking the door behind me. I opened the letter and read its contents.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

It was pleasant running into you at the Quidditch match last week. If you are able, perhaps you would be kind enough to meet at Malfoy Manor for lunch on Saturday at 11:30. I fear we have much to discuss and would prefer to do so in private.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

Saturday, at the Manor. It would be a difficult place to be. Although I was a Slytherin, I had befriended Harry Potter and the rest of his trouble-making trio. I enjoyed their company. It provided a break from the constant berating from the rest of my house. However, due to this friendship I had been taken and held hostage along with Luna Lovegood in Malfoy Manor for a few weeks before the final battle. I had been hit with every curse short of killing me. Draco had been forced to witness but did nothing to help me. I understood why he couldn’t but just once it would have been nice to see him stand up for me. But, alas, I figured I wasn’t worthy of any help. Returning to the Manor was something I never thought I would do but his letter let on to a promise of answers to questions I had been harboring for so long now.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I accept.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

Short and sweet. Now came the long wait for Saturday. Once the day arrived I was more nervous than I had previously anticipated. I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a fitted white long sleeve shirt. Over the top I chose to wear my brown striped blazer. I put on my favorite silver earrings and necklace with an ’S’ charm. When we had been young, Draco gave me a silver ring for my birthday that was shaped like a snake. I had worn it everyday since then without thought. When I went to reach for it today, I paused. Wearing it had become part of my daily routine but he didn’t know that. Would he think I wore it just for him? I shook the thought out of my head and wore it anyway. If I didn’t wear it I was worried I wouldn’t feel complete which would make me more nervous than I already was. I pulled my light brown hair into a half-up-half-down look and applied some light mascara. I was never one to wear makeup but I hadn’t slept much on Friday night so adding some definition to my face and leading the attention to my green eyes became a necessity to attract attention away from my dark circles.

At 11:29 I gathered all the courage I could and apparated to Malfoy Manor. I knocked timidly on the front door. Even the frigid fall wind couldn’t cool my skin as I blushed in anticipation of the meeting. When he opened the door I was overwhelmed by the scent of apples and cologne that had once held a permanent residence in my nose. “Professor, please come in” he said cordially. I nodded and entered into the place that had housed my nightmares for so long. But somehow it was different. The decor wasn’t as sterile as it once was. It actually looked more lived in and closer to a home than a prison. He noticed my slight surprise. “We’ve redone the place a bit so it probably looks much different compared to……last time” he mumbled. I put on my bravest smile and turned to him. “Yes it is quite lovely Mr. Malfoy”. “Please, you can call me Draco. ‘Mr. Malfoy’ is awfully formal don’t you think?”. I looked at him, a slight smirk waved across his face. “Alright, as long as you call me Y/N” I replied. He led me to the kitchen where a small round table was set and had sandwiches on the plates. “I figured since it was just the two of us there was no need to use the dinning room. Can I take your jacket?” he asked. I nodded and unbuttoned my blazer, handing it to him. As he took it from me, I saw him glance at my right hand and saw the serpent ring coiled around my middle finger. He quickly took the blazer from me and said nothing.

As we sat down to eat there was a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before I finally broke and turned to him. “I am sorry but I have a lot of questions and I won’t leave without answers”. He sighed. Nodding, he turned toward me and I began. “Why didn’t you find me after the war? I wrote to you and tried to reach out but you ignored me. When I told Scorpius we had been old friends he looked at me as if I was lying. Why? Did you completely erase me from your life? If thats the case its your decision but I would like to know why.” I paused, waiting for him to speak. “After the war, I was so ashamed that I never stood up for you and how badly I had hurt you when I shut you out, I didn’t feel worthy of your forgiveness. I ignored your letters because I thought you would be better off not ever having to be reminded of the pain that I caused you.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. I exhaled sharply and buried my face in my hands before I finally replied. “Then I guess you never knew me at all”. He looked up, a stunned expression on his face. “Of all the people in the world you should’ve known that I would be the one to forgive you the most. I understood why you did what you did and why you couldn’t help me. You as much as the rest of us were fighting for the lives of us and our families. Had it really been your choice, I don’t think you would have complied.” He stood up and walked away from the table. “I know” he finally said. “I realized all of that a few years ago but at that point I thought it was too late.” He leaned on the kitchen counter with his back to me. His head was dropped and his shoulders were shaking softly. “Its one of my biggest regrets.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, we’re here now. If you have anything else you want to say, nows the time.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never helped you, I’m sorry I didn’t find you after the fighting was over, I’m sorry I didn’t defend you better at school, I’m sorry for all of it.” His words sounded desperate but genuine. It was like he couldn’t find the breath to properly support his list of apologies. “Stop” I said suddenly. I walked in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, lowering my head until he was forced to meet my gaze. “I forgive you. Completely and totally. I just want my friend back.” He chuckled through a cry before pulling me into a tight hug. His hands were around my waist and mine around his neck. I moved my right hand to the back of his neck and stroked his hair, like I had when we were kids whenever he was upset. He chuckled again softly and held me tighter. “Ok as nice as this is I think you are gonna squeeze all the life out of me!” I joked. “Oh I’m sorry” he breathed as he let me go and pushed me away slightly.

After this first meeting, I saw him almost every weekend. We would meet and reminisce and catch up on our lives. At our third meeting he asked me about the ring. “I see you still wear the ring I gave you. I thought you would have gotten rid of it”. He held my right hand and looked at the ring. “Draco, truthfully, I was worn this ring every single day of my life since you gave it to me. It’s a part of me”. This seemed to please him as his cheeks flushed a light pink. By our sixth meeting me we were sharing a bottle of wine after dinner when he decided to play an old record of songs played at the Yule Ball. “Oh my goodness I can’t believe you actually have this!” I laughed as he purposefully did his worst dance moves. “This was one of my favorite nights at school, how could I not!” Before I knew it, he scooped me up and we were dancing the awful and silly choreographed dance we all had to learn. He spun me around in his living room as the music played. Our shadows were dancing on the walls from the light of the fire. “I don’t think I have laughed this hard in years!” I remarked. “Me too” he replied with a chuckle. Just then all of the sudden the laughter stopped and I realized this was the closest I had been to him since we were in school. This only lasted a few moments before Scorpius appeared at the door. We quickly broke apart and Draco took a step froward. “Yes son?”. “Uh, I just wanted to let you know I was going to Albus’s house to spend the night..” he stared at me with a look of confusion on his face. “Oh yes thats fine, have fun and be safe”. He quickly left the room and hurried out the front door before either of us could offer an explanation. “Oh gosh that was so embarrassing” I said, sitting on the couch and hiding my face in my hands. “He probably thinks that we kissed or were about to” I said, the sound muffled through my hands. Draco sat down next to me. “Weren’t we?” he asked timidly. I sat up and looked at him. “I don’t know, my mind kinda went blank” I chuckled. “Mine too” he smiled. “Can I kiss you?” he asked finally. I smiled and nodded. He smiled back and reached his hand out until he touched my face. He brushed his thumb over my cheek as it made its way to brush over my lips. With his other fingers positioned under my chin, he gently pulled my face closer to his, tilting it slightly upwards and to the right. He kissed me gently moving his hand back to my cheek. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle but I was so happy I sunk into it easily. Scorpius would get an explanation later, right now, I just wanted to live in the moment I never realized I wanted.